


The Song Inside the Bone

by dreabean



Series: The Bone Collectors [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Ace Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Dad!Daud, Daud is a BAMF, Emily is a BAMF, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sex, F/F, Finding God, Leviathans, M/M, Other, POV Change, Passive-aggression, Politics, Relational Aggression, Saving the World, Shenanigans, Spirit Guides, The Other Other One where Daud has a Heart, Underage Marriage Proposals, Whale Satan Approves, Wreckage and Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreabean/pseuds/dreabean
Summary: The Void is dying. Dunwall is suffering. Emily and her family are forced into roles they don't fit, trying to save the world as they know it. Daud can't leave the Outsider to rot in the Void, and Emily can't leave her city dying of Plague.They have their jobs, even if they have to give up everything to do them.





	1. 1. EMILY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Troodon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troodon/gifts).



> As of right now, EST, it is 4 September, and y'all know what that means! Yes! I am back with a new installment of the Bone Collectors series, and I am _so excited_ to finally be posting again. I hope this lives up to the expectations of all you lovely, amazing people, and I'm looking forward to hearing what you think. 
> 
> This is, of course, for my beloved Dani, without whom I would never have posted Omen in the Bone. Lex, for always jumping fandoms in order to read what I write, Estora, for the editing, cheerleading and all the endless help and friendship you give me, and of course for the people who come out of the woodwork to review, comment, send messages and emails. You all inspire me so much, I love you all.
> 
> Now for some slightly less pleasant information. There is some intense manipulation done in this fic; Havelock (as you all knew and predicted) doesn't have Emily's best interest at heart, and manipulates her terribly. There will be parts that might make you uncomfortable, because Emily spends the majority of the fic as a 16 year old girl. I want to stress that this is not a sexual thing, and there will be no underage touching or even a hint of that sort of desire on Havelock's part. His manipulation is emotional and political and _that's where it stays._ Whenever these manipulations come up in a chapter, I will of course add an extra warning at the top, and if anyone has any questions or concerns, please feel free to reach out to me. 
> 
> I can be found on [ Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/) for all your needs, though I do currently have Anon turned off. Please don't hesitate to reach out to me otherwise. <3

Emily is bored.

Daud stands at her right, Alexi at her left; before them, the speeches show no sign of wrapping up any time soon. Her head started aching fifteen minutes into the now two-hour long pontification, followed quickly by a parched mouth, irritable fidgeting, and the dire need to yawn loudly and obviously as if her lack of interest will tip Yul Khulan off and fast-track the entire ordeal. 

"Try to smile, Em," Alexi says under her breath. "They're looking at you and you look like you're watching a funeral."

Daud touches a hand to her shoulder. "I know you're bored," he murmurs. She half-expects him to squeeze her shoulder, but he doesn’t; he pulls his hand away as quickly as he’d offered the initial gesture. "But Alexi is right. Khulan will come over here sooner or later. Best you don't look like you're facing the firing squad when he does."

Emily smooths out her expression and tunes back into the speech that the new Vice Overseer is giving. Liam Byrne, a tall, imposing Morlish man isn't exactly what Emily pictures when she thinks of Overseers, but he's well spoken and seems better than the last one by a long stretch.

"We must unite," he says in a deep gravel baritone. "For Delilah’s reign may be over but now is the time to change the face of the world as we know it. Outsider worship is at an all time low. It is time, brothers, that we use that to our advantage."

Daud snorts. "It's at an all time low because we have most of the witches in custody," he mutters. "There isn't anyone else left  _ to _ persecute.”

_ Except Corvo _ , neither of them say.

It’s one thing to work with the Overseers; it’s quite another thing to trust them, and Emily knows she will never -  _ ever _ \- trust them. Not after what happened to Corvo in Karnaca, despite Khulan’s insistence that such a thing would never happen under his watch.

Emily thinks that's a load of oxshit, considering that it happened on his watch once already. But Daud - not to mention Corvo - has warned her not to talk about what happened to Vice Overseer Martin in Karnaca. 

Just because she understands doesn’t mean she has to like it. The reports that must have come from the night of Corvo's rescue had to have been concerning for Khulan. Men who could turn into rats, crows attacking the Overseers, gang activity and obvious use of magic. 

They were lucky to have escaped reprisal at all. They don't need to deal with bringing it up again. 

"Where is Corvo?" Emily wonders, looking around the assembled nobles and Overseers. "I don't see him."

She hasn’t seen him in four days. He’d kissed her forehead up in her rooms at the Tower and disappeared; she can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him in the Royal Quarters since being crowned Empress.

She  _ misses _ him, she misses the way they were in Karnaca; she even misses the way things were before Corvo had to go to Delilah’s tower. 

“Empress, focus,” Daud murmurs.

"He decided that discretion was the better part of valor," Alexi says, taking pity on her. "He's back at the Tower, helping carry supplies back and forth between the Academy and the lab."

"He should be here," Emily mutters. 

Daud issues a grunt, though whether it is one of agreement or disagreement, she can’t tell and doesn’t have a chance to ask when he assumes a neutral expression. “Khulan,” he warns, gesturing his head towards the High Overseer’s approach.

Emily clears her throat, tilting her head to make herself look at least slightly taller, and eyes Khulan as he walks up the dais to where she's been stationed. 

"High Overseer," she greets, trying to keep an even tone. "It is good to see your people looking so well."

Khulan takes off his mask, holding it loosely in one hand. "It is good to return home after so long an absence," he agrees. "And thank you, Empress, for all the help you've given us in restoring Holger Square to its former glory."

The new and improved Holger Square is just as imposing as the last. The gates are higher than she remembers. Fewer parapets, and new wickedly deadly iron spikes decorate the tops of the fencing. The worst part is the speakers. Khulan had wired them up to play the music boxes and the sound had boomed and echoed through the narrow alleys. 

Emily inclines her head, searching for the right words. "Of course," she settles on. "We're always pleased to help our Overseer brothers."

Khulan seems to approve of her choice as he smiles just enough to look almost genuine. "How have repairs to the Tower gone, Empress?" he asks.

She starts to shrug, then stops; it’s not Empress-like to shrug, Daud told her the last time she shrugged in public. She presses her lips together instead. "It goes apace," she answers him. "Slowly, but it's more important to me that the people get their homes fixed before my own is complete."

Khulan nods. "I understand. Now that the Overseers have - more or less - completed repairs, if there's anything we can do, please, let us know."

"Thank you," she answers, trying to sound gracious. "Truthfully, the real problems are the vines that have infiltrated the entire building. They are resistant to fire, resistant to blades, resistant, to - well, nearly everything."

Khulan thinks for a moment. "Perhaps one of the Music Boxes will help? If it can cancel out the effects of the magic..." 

“It’s possible,” Daud says, tone terse. Emily bites back her own snide remark; she doesn’t want those things anywhere near Corvo.

Khulan glances back at Holger Square before continuing. "We can supply you an Overseer with one of the Boxes, if need be.”

Emily clings to her impassivity with a fierce grip. "It couldn't hurt," she says. "If they are amenable to coming to stay at the Tower for the duration of the clean up, then they are of course welcome."

Daud grimaces behind Khulan’s back, but Khulan smiles. "Many of our brothers are still at Whitecliff, but you are already familiar with Clemente and Darnell. I will inform them of the change in their duties immediately, of course."

"Thank you, High Overseer," Emily says. "We appreciate your dedication in the clean up of Dunwall." 

Bowing, Khulan takes a step back. "Of course, Empress. They will be perfectly decorous."

Emily highly doubts that; Overseers have never been decorous in her experience, but Clemente and Darnell weren’t nearly as bad as their brothers in Serkonos. Khulan pulls back, moving past Daud with another short bow. As soon as he is far enough away, Emily turns back to Daud, crossing her legs on her seat. 

"How was that?" she asks dryly. 

Daud eyes her, then eyes the building. “Ladylike enough, I suppose.”

She gives him a dry look. “Thanks.”

Turning her attention back to the Overseers, she tracks their movements carefully. Clemente moves up to her, his brother Darnell following a few steps behind him. 

“Empress,” Clemente says, bowing slightly. “I am told we are to be working together.”

“Again,” Darnell adds, but he sounds like he’s smiling behind his mask.

“It will be good to work together again,” Emily says, though she can’t quite smile back. “Gather your things and follow us to the Tower when you can.”

Overseer Clemente nods once. “Of course, Empress.” He pauses, glancing at Daud before stepping closer to Emily. Daud and Alexi both tense, but all Clemente does is lean forward, voice quiet enough that Emily has to strain to hear him. "Tell your father that while we look the other way, others in our Order may not be so willing to do the same."

Emily pulls back, staring at him. Alexi moves closer, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

“Clemente,” Darnell murmurs, and Clemente takes a step back. 

“We’ll join you tomorrow,” Clemente finishes. 

“Of course, Overseer,” Emily murmurs, a beat too late. With Clemente and Darnell returning home with them, Corvo’s presence will be so sparse he might as well become a ghost. 

Emily glances at Daud as they walk away. “You’ll warn Da-- Father, won’t you?”

“Of course, Empress,” Daud says.

She misses the way he used to call her Princess.

*

Cleaning up Holger Square had taken so many of her resources that Emily privately feared that she’d have none left over. The Tower is still a mess, of course, but the lower levels had been cleared away first for her many - too many - Parliament meetings.

As soon as Khulan had found her in the midst of the chaos after the battle, he’d placed her on the shattered throne and ruled that Empress Delilah was dead, long live Empress Emily Kaldwin, First of her Name. It was dramatic, and Emily had hoped she’d be given more than an hour’s reprieve before being bombarded with questions.

Who is going to be in your cabinet, Empress? Have you chosen a Spymaster, Empress? A Royal Protector? Will Curnow return as Captain of the Guard? Are you really the Empress, Empress?

It had only taken four hours before Emily realized that she was well out of her depth. 

Thankfully she had Admiral Havelock on her side; he’d loomed over every constituent and shopkeep that had come to her over the first week of her reign, and murmured ideas into her ear when they gathered the scattered nobility. She’d named him her advisor, to the approval of Parliament. 

They were… slightly less understanding about her choices for her Royal Spymaster and Protector. 

Corvo had been visibly weakened by whatever he’d gone through in Delilah’s tower, and combined with his looks, demeanor, and general malaise, half the nobility wished to oust him back to Serkonos where he’d come from. Emily hadn’t  _ meant _ to tell them that Corvo was her father - it just slipped out, really, in a moment of abject panic - but she can’t argue with the results.

Daud, for his part, had been reluctant to formally take up his position as her Royal Protector. She’s spent six years with him, she knows how he feels about being in view - Emily is fair certain he’s never forgiven Duke Theodanis for forcing him into personal meetings - but it’s… hard not to take his unwillingness personally.

Havelock clears his throat, and Emily tunes back into the meeting she’s been daydreaming through, catching Havelock’s disapproving face. She wrenches her attention back to Esma Boyle, who is going through her plans to reopen the Boyle Bank, something Emily had actually looked over before going to the meeting. 

“I believe getting a trade flow back through Dunwall is integral to our survival,” Esma insists, the sole woman with the exception of Emily. “We have little food but what we catch ourselves, no whale oil and no produce. If starvation doesn’t take us, then scurvy or disease surely will.”

“The fact of the matter,” Leon Peverly says stoutly, from his place across the table from Esma, “is that while you twaddle about speaking of trade and good faith relationships, no country in their right mind is going to expose themselves to the Plague.”

“And there is the matter of the Blockade,” Dane Ambrose adds. “How can we open up trade routes when the only routes are closed to us?”

Emily clears her throat delicately, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Lord Peverly, your concerns about the Plague speak well of you but they are largely unwarranted. The people of Dunwall are being inoculated against the disease as we speak, and soon we will be begin extermination of the rats.”

Peverly scowls, waving that away. “We don’t know if your cure even works, Empress!”

Emily tilts her head to the side, contemplating Peverly’s too thin face. “I can’t tell if you’re doubting me, or Anton Sokolov’s work,” she finally settles on, catching and keeping his gaze. “In either case, I’ve seen Anton’s work first hand.”

Esma nods. “As have I. A boy who fought in the battle for the Tower had been felled by rats, he and his companion both grew ill. He took the elixir, and healed, while his companion died of Plague.”

Thinking of Rulfio, caught between Weeper and man makes Emily’s chest ache but she manages a nod in agreement. “The cure works,” she says in a tone she’d stolen from Daud. 

Havelock puts his hand on her shoulder, squeezing once.  It’s both a comfort and a warning; she’s edging too close to heretic assassin in tone, and Emily forces herself to relax. 

“Empress, the trade routes?” Esma prompts.

She’s already thought about this. “Reach out to Duke Theodanis Abele,” Emily says. “He fostered me for a great deal of time, and he has always been a great friend to the Kaldwin family. Serkonos still holds major power on its own, and with Morley and Tyvia at each others throats they will see our alliance as something to either fear or match.” 

“Empress, we cannot afford to alienate Tyvia or Morley,” Ambrose says. 

“I’m not suggesting we alienate them,” Emily responds, refusing to rise to his tone. “On the contrary, I’m suggesting that we let them conclude that they’ve alienated themselves.”

Peverly stands, drawing everyone’s gaze to him. “There’s also the matter of your….” He trails off, eyes raking up and down Emily’s body, “ _ age _ , Empress.”

Emily shifts in her chair. “What are you suggesting, Lord Peverly?”

“No one is saying you’re doing poorly, of course,” he says, “but you’re but a girl of sixteen. Even your mother didn’t take the throne until she was of age.”

Emily’s hands ball into fists. “My  _ mother _ ,” she says, “had the luxury of time, which I obviously do not. Any choice I had in assuming the throne was decided for me many years ago. What you see is what you get.”

There’s a flicker of a smile on Peverly’s face when she finishes speaking. Havelock’s hand has gone tight on her shoulder. 

“Of course,” Peverly says, the very picture of gracious solicitousness. “I would never dream of forcing your abdication. However, if you  _ married _ a nobleman…”

“I believe,” Havelock interrupts before Emily can do more than gape, “that introducing marriage so soon into Emily’s reign would do more to destabilize her than it would to help her.  Empress Emily is favored with the nobility - they saw her fight for this Empire. Even the gangs who flourished under Delilah fought for the rightful Empress.”

A shadow detaches itself from the wall and becomes Daud; a thunderous expression on his face. Emily finally manages to find her tongue. “I’m sixteen, Lord Peverly,” she says. “When and if I decide to marry, it will be a long time coming.”

Havelock clears his throat, finally gentling his touch on Emily’s shoulder. “Let’s take this moment to adjourn,” he says.

Emily nods once. “Lady Boyle, please do compose a letter of intent to Duke Abele,” she instructs. “Have it sent to my office at once.” 

“Empress,” Esma says, bowing deeply. Emily doesn’t breathe properly until only she, Daud and Havelock are left the room. Daud takes up his position on Emily’s other side, and together he and Havelock escort her out. 

“That could have gone better,” Havelock murmurs.

“I’m  _ not _ getting married,” Emily says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to, and I refuse to marry Peverly -” or worse, his son, “- the spineless coward.” She flexes her left hand. “May I go? I’m due for a lesson with Callista.”

It’s only half a lie; she’s due for a lesson, but it’s not with Callista. 

“Of course,” Havelock says, ever considerate. “We’ll see you at dinner, Empress.”

“Empress,” Daud agrees, but his face tells her that they’ll be having words later. 

Emily is sick of talking. Every conversation has already been done to death - Corvo has to stay out of sight and hopefully out of mind, Daud must remain a strict distance from her; she  _ knows _ . 

Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She’s barely seen Corvo since they retook the Tower and he woke up. Sometimes he joins them at dinner, but more often than not she hears Daud telling Corvo he needs to eat more. 

They returned to Dunwall to save the Empire; all it cost her was her family.

Emily makes her way through the construction, finding Thomas easily. He’s on the roof, his back turned to her as he pulls out weeds and briars from around the pavilion, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“Empress,” he greets before she’s even close enough to cast a shadow on him.

“How do you always know?” Emily demands, stopping in her tracks.

Thomas sits back on his heels, turning to face her. “It’s the way you walk,” he answers with a smile. “Everyone moves differently, and yours is more definitive than most. What can I do for you, Em?”

She sits in the dirt next to him, heedless of her white frock. “I wish to ask you a favor,” she tells him. “Daud always says that one day I’ll have to use force to save my own life.”

“But?”

“But he refuses to teach me.”

Thomas eyes her for a long moment. “He was outed as your mother’s killer,” he says. “Of course he doesn’t wish to be seen fighting with you.”

“Yes,” Emily sighs. “I know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

Thomas pauses. “I was there the day your mother died as well,” he says carefully.

Emily wonders if she’s surrounded by people who believe she’s a fool, or if they simply wish she was. 

“Thomas,” she says, with just enough censure that she reminds herself of her mother, “I know you were there that day. Many of you were, and yet I still live among you. I made my peace with that. So. Will you teach me to fight?” 

“... Daud is going to kill me.”

Emily grins, leaping to her feet. “First lesson starts now,” she demands, picking up two sticks he’d liberated from the foliage. 

He levers himself to his feet. “All right Empress,” he drawls. “Let’s dance.”

*

In the hours since starting her lessons with Thomas, Emily had managed to forget that she had two Overseers staying in her tower. She'd only seen Clemente twice, he was hard to miss after all - dark skinned and tall as a house with one eye covered in a black leather patch. So of course, she runs straight into him getting out of the elevator on the Royal quarter floor. 

Even for him, he's dwarfed by the enormous music box in his arms - and entirely without meaning to, Emily flinches.

Clemente looks down at her over the top of it, his one visible eyebrow slightly raised. 

"It can't hurt you, Empress," he says.

Letting slip that she was once a witch is the last thing she wants, so Emily simply steps aside to allow him into the elevator. 

"Of course," she says, keeping her voice steady. "You merely startled me." 

Clemente heaves the mechanical monstrosity off his chest to lean it on the floor of the elevator. "Of course," he agrees, shooting her an amused but seemingly genuine smile that she doesn’t return. "I was going to write up my report and send it to you through official channels, but as long as you're here, perhaps you'd like to see our progress?" 

Emily hesitates. She doesn't really want to; she's tired, dirty, and catching her reflection in the glass panels of the elevator shows her that her hair is a fright.

But she’s the Empress now. "...Very well," she says, with palpable reluctance. 

Clemente leaves the music box in the elevator and leads her down the hall toward the once great library. 

It was her favorite room when she'd been a child; happy with her mother and Corvo, curled in the giant, overstuffed chairs, listening to Corvo read her something in his rolling, native accent. 

Corvo had warned her that nothing was like how she would remember it. She'd taken the words to heart, but they hadn't prepared her for the systematic demolition of her childhood home. The library had hurt the worst. 

With some little effort, Clemente pushes the double doors - fixed, now - open, revealing the room at large. The pianoforte had been removed and heavy canvas covered the large window, but the vines had almost been entirely cleared away except for the ones that curled out of the fireplace grate. 

"Those vines originate in the Royal Spymaster’s room," Clemente says, when he sees her looking at them. 

"Best leave them until Corvo is ready to have his room done," she agrees. The books that could be salvaged are on the shelves, and Emily moves around the room touching them gently with her fingertips. 

"I take it you approve?" Clemente asks. 

Emily pulls one of the books off the shelf and opens it to a random page. When she was a girl she spent most of her time in this room. She would hide under the pianoforte from her tutors, and she would sleep in the chair by the fireplace, listening to mother work and Corvo read. Now she does smile, but joy isn’t the sensation that accompanies it. 

“Thank you for completing this room first,” she says. “It was… precious to me.”

"You're welcome," Clemente says. "Whatever else you may think of the Order, Empress, Darnell and I are not here to make your life more difficult." 

In her experience, that’s all the Overseers seem to do. Emily puts the book back where she found it, turning to face him. 

"We shall see."

Clemente bows and takes his leave, returning to the elevator at the end of the hallway. Emily stands in the middle of the empty library, wondering how difficult it would be to drag a chair from somewhere into the room. At the sound of displaced air, Emily turns - directly into Corvo's embrace. 

"You should be at your lessons with Callista," he mumbles against the top of her head. 

"I had a different lesson," she says, pressing her forehead into his shoulder.

"Yes, with Thomas, I noticed," Corvo says, but at least he's smiling. "You'll be the one to explain that to Daud." 

She grins, tightening her grip on him before pulling back. "I can take him." 

Corvo's mask is pushed up into his hair, revealing his silver-blue eyes and slightly raised eyebrows and the smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. "Sure." 

She shoves his shoulder. "You can protect me." 

Corvo laughs out loud at that. Emily starts, then smiles. It's been awhile since she's heard him laugh.

"You should get cleaned up. Dinner is soon, and if you're going to come up with a good reason for skipping out on Callista then you'll need all the help you can get." 

She wrinkles her nose at him. "You have twigs in your hair," she points out. 

"Ah, but I'm a witch," he says, and tugs a similar twig out of the loosened bun at the back of her head before tucking a few stray strands behind her ears in an attempt to fix her disastrous hair. "You have no such excuse.”

He walks with her to the stairs up to her room, and it doesn't escape her notice that as soon as they reach the hall he withdraws from her. 

"Dad," she says. 

Corvo shakes his head with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Emily," he says. "But until things have settled down, it's best they see us together only in an official capacity." 

She knows. 

When she doesn’t reply, he reaches out and touches her shoulder and the world slows down around them, everything a flat grey except for the glowing silver of Corvo's eyes. 

"Emily,” he murmurs. “I know this is hard on you.  I want you to know how proud I am of you and what you've done. I love you, even if I can't tell the world." 

Emily's throat closes up. "Royal Spymaster and Father," she whispers. 

He grins at her. "Someday you can pass a law that allows both titles to apply to me," he says, and leans in to kiss her forehead. 

Corvo steps back a second later, and the color drains back into the world, while the silver glow disappears from his eyes. It leaves them a disconcertingly warm brown, familiar but long unseen. 

He staggers, what little color on his face draining away to leave him pale and ashen. 

"D-- Corvo?" she asks, alarmed. 

"I'm alright, Em," he says, after a pause that goes on for just a little too long. "Go clean yourself up.” 

She watches him leave, her blood running as cold as his lie.

  
  



	2. 2. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Corvo,” Daud breathes in relief._
> 
> _“Mm,” Corvo says, his head tilted to the side like the crow he'd been named for. “Not quite.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this is for my beloved Dani and Estora, without whom these chapters would not exist and this story would have died before posting. Special thanks to all the people who comment, send asks, or messages. You have no idea how much your words mean to me. Thank you <3
> 
> In this chapter, we earn our rating ;)
> 
> You can always find me at [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/) for all your needs. I follow back, and I love conversation.

The chambers Daud has been staying in are not the Royal Protector’s quarters; it’s a guest room that he’s been sleeping in and dressing in, ostensibly to cover for the fact that the Royal Protector’s quarters still belong to Corvo. Daud is not averse to moving there, but he’s not without manners - he won’t join Corvo in that bedroom until he’s invited which is increasingly looking like it’ll be  _ if _ he’s invited, given Corvo’s determination to avoid him.

He'd take it personally if Corvo hadn't seemed as though he was avoiding everyone; it's simply hard to stomach when they’d spent most of the last half year apart. 

Frankly, he’s getting sick of it.

That night, once Emily finally finishes reading her reports for the next day, leaving her in the capable hands of Burton and Rinaldo so he can retire, though not to his guest room.

Instead, he seeks out Corvo. Even without magic, it’s absurdly easy to to sneak through the halls of the Tower, but he knows from experience that Corvo isn't in his room, so Daud makes his way to the corner staircase instead, heading down toward the Chapel. 

They hadn't let the Overseers or the construction crews anywhere near it. The large tree sprouting up through the middle of the room remained untouched, as had Delilah's twisted paintings. 

From his place at the top of the landing, Daud sees that Corvo has cleaned up most of the refuse, throwing out vines, weeds, and the strange bones that had been part of Delilah's decorative design. He’s done a good job of it, though at this moment, Corvo isn’t cleaning. He’s... painting. 

Daud had spent a season at the Academy of Natural Science and had ignored everything Sokolov ever said to him about art, but even Daud knows that the painting is terrible. Corvo has a streak of blue paint over his nose, and a red one across his forehead, and whatever he is trying to paint on the blank canvas is a mess of colors. Beside him, the painting that they'd fallen through when they'd escaped the Void the last time is black and blank, burned sections completely wiping out the runes that had opened the Portal. 

This is why Corvo has been avoiding him. Avoiding Emily. Avoiding  _ everyone _ . How many times does have to lose the ones he -

The thought stalls him. 

In his lifetime, Daud has been many things; a son, a killer for hire, a heretic. A coward has never been one of them. It's time for him to stop hedging around the word, avoiding the idea or implication in the depths of his feelings for Corvo. 

Loves.

He's never felt this way for anyone, and it comes with a healthy dose of guilt and shame. It's easy to admit to himself that he loves Corvo; harder to admit that he only has the chance he has because he took away the only other person Corvo has ever loved. 

He doesn’t deserve Corvo, but Daud is selfish enough to take it the chance when it comes. Hence, why Corvo's avoidance of him rankles so. 

Daud slips down the stairs and jumps lightly over the railing to land on silent feet behind Corvo. "It's a bit shit," he says honestly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

To his credit, Corvo doesn't startle, he simply turns around with a grimace. "I'm not the artist in this family," he says. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

"Rulfio is a fair hand at painting," Daud says without thinking. Then he winces, watching Corvo’s face turn aggrieved. Rulfio is still trapped with the other Weepers, caught halfway between monster and man - the progress only halted by Corvo’s bone charm. Daud had tried to see him after the battle but Rulfio - red-eyed, blood-covered Rulfio - had begged him not to return. 

"Well," Corvo says after a beat. "If painting won't unlock the secret to how we get into the Void, then we'll have to find another way." 

Daud looks over the mess on the canvas with a critical eye. "I think we were always going to have to do that."

"Shut up, I'd like to see you do any better." 

Barking a laugh, Daud shakes his head. "No, I think I'll leave the murdering of innocent canvases to you, Corvo. I'd hardly be any kinder to them." 

Corvo rolls his eyes and drops his abused paintbrushes into jars of water. "Yeah, yeah, I should stick with bones, that much is clear." 

There's a haunted look on his face as he says it and Daud curses Delilah once again for everything she did to them. 

"Maybe you should," Daud says slowly. "There's plenty of whalebone here." 

Whatever Delilah had done or said to make Corvo doubt his skill with bone charms, it clearly settled into his soul. Corvo shrugs uncomfortably. "Perhaps," he answers, his tone too neutral to be natural. 

He senses that pushing will only make Corvo worse. Daud steps forward and takes Corvo's shoulders, sliding his hands down Corvo's arms to link his fingers around too-thin wrists. "It's late," Daud murmurs, ever aware that the doors behind him are glass. "Royal Spymasters need their rest." 

A small smile flickers over Corvo's exhausted face. "Oh, do they?" he says, stepping closer to Daud and freeing one of his wrists to wrap his arm around Daud's waist. "May I?"

Daud nods once, and the brief moment of disorientation before the world re-aligns itself when they reappear further down the hallway is a small price to pay for being able to press himself so closely to Corvo. 

They walk down the hall together towards the Protector’s quarters, too close to be appropriate but far enough for them both to pull their swords if required. 

"Are you coming in?" Corvo asks when they reach the door, tilting his head towards the room. 

"Was that in question?" Daud replies. 

The bedroom is a mess; the curtains still torn, the tiles still cracked, but not nearly as bad looking as the first time Daud had seen it. Most of the furniture is still broken but - probably thanks to Emily - it’s been cleared of the vines, dust and dirt.

As Daud closes the door behind them, Corvo turns away from him, tugging his paint splattered shirt off and leaving himself bare chested. 

Daud strikes. 

He spins Corvo around, crowding him against the wall next to the door, pressing Corvo back against it. He holds Corvo's wrists in his hands again, pinning him ably. There's a measure of surprise on Corvo's face that Daud hates with a visceral passion. 

"You," he growls, leaning his weight into Corvo's body, "have been avoiding me." 

"If it makes you feel any better," Corvo says, with a breathless sort of hitch in his voice, "I've been avoiding everyone." 

Corvo's words break off on a sharp gasp as Daud bites him. "I've not slept in your bed," he says, muffled against Corvo's cool skin. "We haven’t been together since the last time at the Hound Pits." 

It's gratifying when Corvo arches up into Daud's touch, the long lean line of his body pressed against his. "You don't like having sex," Corvo says, though he's gone ragged with desire and his silver eyes have darkened. 

"I don't like having sex," Daud agrees. "I like what we do. I like my hands on you. I like the sounds you make when you fall apart beneath me." He punctuates each sentence with another bite to Corvo's neck and shoulder, placing sharp kisses there. "I like when you beg me." 

Corvo's eyes have dilated so much that Daud can barely see the silver. "Is that what you want,  _ amante _ ?" he asks. 

Daud eases up on his assault, pulling back far enough to meet Corvo's gaze. "Only if you do.”

The subtle tension in Corvo's arms and torso goes abruptly limp, as he sags into Daud's hold against the wall. "I am yours," he says, all languid promise. "Still good?" 

Of course Corvo would ask that, pinned to a wall by Daud's bulk. "Still good," he agrees, and kisses any other words out of Corvo's mouth.

Pinning Corvo in place puts too much uncomfortable pressure on him, so Daud shifts his stance. He lets go of Corvo's hands, smirking when they immediately wrap around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Corvo kisses him like he's starving, sliding his tongue into Daud's mouth and digging his teeth gently into his lower lip. 

Daud slides his hands down Corvo's torso, trying not to notice how prominent his ribs are - that's a fight for another day - and hooks his hands under Corvo's thighs, lifting him easily. Keeping a tight grip, he spins Corvo away from the door, carrying him across the room and tumbling him onto the messy bed. 

Daud kneels over him, settling himself low on Corvo's thighs, away from anything too uncomfortable or sensitive, pinning him in place. 

"I've missed you," Corvo says on a sigh, relaxing into the bed. 

Trailing his fingers over Corvo's side, Daud leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Missed you too," he says. Corvo is obviously hard beneath him, but he seems content to lean up into Daud's grip and kiss him gently. 

Daud is tired of seeing the weight of the Outsider's fate weighing down Corvo, tired of seeing how many sleepless nights he's been trying to hide. He can't erase their problems; but he can help Corvo forget them for a little while. 

He strokes his hands over Corvo's torso with firm, broad passes, trying to urge warmth into his cool skin. He doesn't focus his touch, but Corvo still arches whenever his hands skate close to an erogenous zone. 

Eventually, Corvo's biting his lip, small sounds escaping as Daud slides his fingers across Corvo's nipples, finally giving them sole attention. Corvo drags in a ragged gasp, arching up into Daud's hands. "Tease," he accuses, but he's finally smiling. 

"I did say I liked it when you begged," Daud points out. 

Corvo's teeth sink deep into his lower lip at that, and a shiver runs through him. Daud takes that as permission, and pinches Corvo lightly, adding pressure with every second. Corvo's chest arches into his hands, and he cries out as Daud lets go. 

Daud digs his blunt nails in, leaving long lines of sensation down Corvo's torso before he unhooks his belt. "Yes?" he double checks, fingers loitering at the button holding them closed. 

"Please,” Corvo grits out. 

"Begging already?" Daud asks, and Corvo groans in annoyance. Taking pity on him, Daud slides his fingers into Corvo's pants, unhooking them and pulling them down just far enough to ease Corvo out of them.   
  


He even looks desperate, flushed and hard enough that his cock is curved up and brushing against the hollow planes of his stomach. Daud trails a single finger up the vein on the underside, watching the way Corvo throbs with it, his hips shifting. He doesn't have any oil on him - he didn't really expected to do this - so he takes Corvo's cock carefully in hand instead, making sure to keep his movements gentle, knowing his calloused hands can be rough to the touch. 

It helps that the slow, gentle strokes are clearly driving Corvo out of his mind. He's writhing on the bed, covers twisting around him as he fights to arch his hips up into Daud's grip. Without being able to move his legs though, Corvo has no leverage, and he groans loudly with every slow, careful stroke. 

"Fuck," Corvo swears, voice cracked and broken. "You're trying to kill me." 

Daud smirks. "I didn't have the foresight to bring oil with me," he admits, punctuating the statement with a slow, tight twist of his wrist, dragging fluid from the tip of Corvo's cock down. 

"Just use spit," Corvo says, shuddering. 

"That's just unsanitary," Daud replies, giving him another twist. Corvo's voice breaks when he cries out again, his head thrown back against the pillows. 

Voidlight flickers through his skin, but it fades quickly, and Daud dares a quick, hard pressure under the sensitive head of Corvo's cock.

When Corvo shouts, he jerks so hard he nearly unseats Daud. Shifting his position for a better angle, Daud braces his free hand on Corvo's stomach, holding him still. "If you make me fall off this bed, I'll stop," he warns Corvo, only half joking. 

Corvo goes unnaturally still, fine shivers still running over his skin. "You wouldn't," he says, and the sound runs a shock down Daud's spine. Corvo sounds  _ ruined; _ his voice is deep, running roughshod like ground gravel, a hint of the accent he tries to erase in the liquid vowels of his words. 

"I absolutely would," Daud says, meaning none of it. He trails his fingers up the hard ridge of Corvo's cock again, tracing around the tip with one finger. Whatever Corvo was going to say dies in his throat with a low whine, and Daud does it again. 

Corvo's cock is a dark red, burning hot in his hands. He's flushed down to his belly, and Daud takes pity on him. He slings his hand around Corvo's cock, starting up a tight, rhythmic stroke. 

Even with all the fluid Corvo's been leaking, the motion is far from frictionless. The sound Corvo makes at the sudden change is punched out of him, and his entire body stiffens by degrees until he's trembling with how tight his muscles are locked. Daud speeds up his hands, and leans down to take Corvo's mouth with his. 

That's all it takes; Corvo's cry is swallowed by Daud, as he comes between them. It goes on for a shockingly long time, until Corvo is wrung out and limp against the mattress. With one last kiss, Daud gets up from the bed despite Corvo's slurred protests, and goes to the sink to clean his hands and get a washing cloth. 

With more care than what's probably necessary, Daud divests Corvo of his ruined pants and cleans him of sweat and come, before shedding most of his own clothing and gathering Corvo into his arms. 

They usually sleep opposite, with Daud wrapped up in Corvo's embrace, but tonight he pulls Corvo closer. Corvo doesn't seem to mind, tucking his head under Daud's chin and curling up there. It doesn't take long for Corvo to fall asleep, exhausted and wrung out. Daud though, remains awake and watchful, resting his cheek on the cap of Corvo's hair. 

_ I love you, _ he thinks, but can't make himself say. Not yet. 

Next time. He’ll say it next time.

*

When he wakes up, Corvo’s side of the bed is empty. There’s a frisson of alarm at that, until he sits up and finds that Corvo has only left the bed but not the room. 

His desk is in pieces stacked neatly in a corner, so Corvo has settled on the floor, a series of melting candles around in a semi circle. Daud pushes the pillows back against the wall, leaning more comfortably to watch as Corvo’s fingers dance over a piece of whalebone. There’s a marked hesitancy in his motions that hadn’t been present before he’d gone to the Tower. 

“Delilah,” Corvo says without looking up, “gave me a box of bones and an order to make her charm that blocked the plague; it’s nothing I haven’t done before.” He turns the bone in his hands, wire spooling through his fingers. “I made it, as I’ve made all the others and it turned black with soot and red with taint. I thought… that I’d drawn from Delilah, instead of the Void, and I gave her the completed charm and  _ she _ gave it to a witch.”

The wire runs out and Corvo’s fingers flicker with blue flame, melting the the wire ends. 

“What happened to the witch?” Daud asks.

“She died.” Corvo finally looks up, blue fire behind his eyes. “She turned into a weeper in the span of moments. She killed two other witches before the rest put her down.”

Daud stares at him. “Your bone charm turned someone into a weeper?” he repeats. “I didn’t even think that was possible.”

A smile flickers over Corvo’s face. “I didn’t think it was either. For all I know of creating bone charms, for all the practice and time I’ve spent making them… I’ve never created a corrupted bone charm before. Especially not… one like that.” 

Without looking away from Daud, Corvo reaches down and picks up a carving knife, placing it against the bone in his hands. 

“That’s why you didn’t want to do this.”

“It’s… possible that my ability to create bone charms has been altered forever,” Corvo says, and finally turns his eyes to his work. “Though I’ve been very careful to remove the tainted bones that Delilah had given me.” 

Daud blinks at him. “She tainted whale bones?”

“She gave me weeper bones.”

His breath catches in his throat. “ _ Corvo _ .”

Corvo’s shoulders stiffen as he begins to carve, the low hum of the Void filling the room. Under that, Daud can hear the melodic hum of Corvo’s own voice. He’s silent, watching him work, watching the sparks of Void and magic curl and twist around Corvo’s fingers and the bone in his hands. 

“What are you humming?” Daud asks quietly.

“It’s a lullaby,” Corvo answers, somewhat absently. “I don’t remember the words anymore, it’s been too many years since I heard my mother sing it. It… fits the cadence of the Void.” 

He looks up at Daud again, and holds up a completed bone charm, his eyes a shocking, startling brown.

It spurs Daud into motion, climbing out of the bed to land awkwardly next to Corvo on the floor. He tilts Corvo’s chin up, and Corvo’s gaze slides away. “Your eyes are brown again.”

“My connection to the Void is… tenuous, at best,” Corvo murmurs. “It comes and goes, depending on how much magic I use. Piero has been making me a Remedy of his own, which helps replenish my mana.”

“You were once more powerful than Delilah, you  _ turned her into a statue _ . What happened?” 

Corvo tucks the bone charm he’d just made into Daud’s shirt, fitting it against the tightly buttoned vest he still wore. “The Void is a living thing, Daud,” he answers quietly. “And it’s angry with me, the Outsider’s… attachment to me turned Leviathan’s gaze and I’ve been rejecting it, over and over again. It’s no wonder that my connection to magic is breaking.”

A little desperate, Daud grips Corvo’s shoulders. “You’ve opened a portal to the Void before.”

“Yes,” Corvo agrees, taking Daud’s elbows and touching their foreheads together. “I’m not willing to do that again. I murdered my way through Cullero, Daud. I killed beggars, and thieves and guards, and anyone that Jess told me was unworthy. I’m never going to make up for what I did in that city, Daud. I killed  _ so many people _ .” 

His voice breaks off, and Daud holds him tightly, content to let him breathe.

They sit until Daud’s legs go numb and his back aches with the strain of leaning so hunched over. “You helped people in Karnaca,” Daud murmurs. “You helped me. Jindosh. Theodanis.”

Corvo’s laughter is as broken as his breathing. “Yeah, maybe. Doesn’t the saying go, too little too late?” 

“ _ I killed Jessamine _ .”

That makes Corvo pull away from him but Daud holds his gaze without flinching. It’s hard, the guilt Daud has carried with him ever heavy on his mind. 

“This topic,” Corvo says, “has been done to death.”

Daud scowls at him. “I was an assassin for hire, and when I killed her I felt every life I’d ever taken, all at once.  _ You  _ can’t make up for the lives you took? I will  _ never _ wipe my soul clean. But somehow you still manage to sleep with me.”

“I am  _ allowed _ to move on with my life,” Corvo snaps.

“Then stop blaming yourself for Cullero.”

Corvo stares at him for long seconds that drag by like years before a small smile steals over his face. “Only if you stop blaming yourself for when you were the Knife.” 

Daud sighs, dropping his forehead onto Corvo’s shoulder. “My ass is asleep.”

“Mine too,” Corvo says with a genuine laugh. “Come on. Let’s see if the bathroom has running water yet.” 

Together they climb to their feet, pins and needles rushing down into his feet. “I’m too old to be sitting on the floor,” he complains. Stumbling like drunks, they make their way into the hall and toward the large bathroom. They’d been transversing buckets of cold water up, but Emily had mentioned plans to get the plumbing fixed. 

It’s early, the sun barely penetrating the thick dawn fog and Daud pushes open the door to the bathroom, fingers still tangled with Corvo’s. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” someone shrieks, and all Daud catches out of the corner of his eye is a half naked body spinning so their back is to them. 

“Sorry,” Corvo apologizes instantly, dropping Daud’s hand. “I didn’t expect anyone to be awake at this hour.” He trails off, looking down in the corner where a pile of clothing sits and Daud follows his gaze. An Overseer mask sits atop a familiar blue and gold jacket. 

Daud frowns and slowly looks up at the Overseer they’d interrupted. “You’re a woman,” he says.

Darnell turns around, arms crossed over her chest. 

“I’m a woman,” she agrees, her eyes averted. 

Interesting. 

Corvo scoops up her shirt, vest and jacket, handing it over to her. 

She dresses quickly, not looking at them. “Are you going to tell High Overseer Khulan?”

“Well,” Corvo says, “I’m a known heretic and a witch, but you and your partner still live with me, Darnell, so telling Khulan anything rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” 

Darnell snorts quietly, rubbing her hand across the back of her neck. “It’s Daria, actually. Darnell was my brother. The Overseers demanded my parents give up a child for their services, but Darnell - couldn’t. So I volunteered in his place.” She presses her lips together. “Can I have my mask please?” 

Corvo hands it to her and Daud watches her tension ease as soon as it’s back on her face. “Your secret is safe with us,” Corvo tells her. “And we’ll knock, next time.”

“Wait,” Darnell - no, Daria - says, one hand stretching out toward them. “You... you're really just going to leave? You’re not going to tell anyone?”

  
Daud glances at Corvo who presses his lip together in irritation. “My secret is not worth more than yours, Daria,” Corvo says. “What would the Overseers do to you, should they find that you're not a brother like them? I'm not in the business of causing other people pain.”   
  
“Nor am I,” Daud agrees. “Not any more. You keep our secrets, we keep yours, simple as that.”   
  
Corvo nods, taking her outstretched hand in his and shaking it. “I do suggest,” he says, still holding her hand, “that you tell Emily.”   
  
Daria's mask hides her expression but the way her shoulders stiffen is telling. “Why?” she asks.   
  
“Because Emily will be the only one who can help you, should the worst come to pass,” Corvo answers. He nudges Daud, who takes the hint and pushes the door open behind them, stepping through. “It's just a thought, Overseer Darnell.”   
  
They leave her to stew on what they'd said, and Daud closes the door behind them. Once they're safely back in Corvo's room, his eyes flicker silver and he looks around - Daud recognizes the look, he's checking for anyone close enough to listen in.    
  
“That was unexpected,” Daud murmurs once Corvo's eyes fade back to brown.    
  
“I wondered why he - she - never took off her mask,” Corvo muses as he pulls out a dark blue remedy and drinks it in a long swallow.    
  
Daud watches him carefully as he does it, and when Corvo tosses the empty remedy vial back into the chest he'd unearthed it from, his eyes are silver again. 

“You're running out of time, aren't you?”    
  
The contemplative look on Corvo's face fades. “Yes.” He takes a deep breath, looking up and meeting Daud's eyes. “It's possible that if I, if we, don't find our way into the Void soon, I'll be as insensate as Billie and Aurelia, cut off from the source of magic.”   
  
Daud steps forward and kisses Corvo hard on the mouth. “Unacceptable,” he growls.    
  
Corvo smiles, touching their foreheads together. “Your opinion is noted,” he murmurs. Daud tightens his grip on Corvo, holding on.   
  
“Don't,” he says, when Corvo moves to pull away.   
  
“Daud,” Corvo says softly.    
  
It takes effort to release Corvo. “I know,” Daud responds, and lets him go.   
  
*   
  
Daud is dreaming.   
  
He knows it’s a dream because he's transversing from stone to stone, rock to rock, heart pounding in his chest as the Void stretches out before him. The wind howls in his ears as he clenches his hand that hasn’t been Marked in over a year and flees the thing that chases him.   
  
He turns, looking behind him, and sees nothing but rolling, seething darkness. It reaches out with an inhuman scream, ropes of thick blackness whipping across the nothing of the Void.   
  
Daud panics.   
  
He transverses away, watching the stone he'd been standing on crushed under the weight of the darkness. He turns and flees; transversing as fast as his mana can recharge. The darkness - it's not Leviathan, there's no unearthly intelligence to this - is close at his heels. Daud pushes, far past when mana drain would normally drop him out of the air.   
  
He misses a rock, plunging down into the depths of the Void before his magic kicks in again and he transverses to a platform, thundering to a stop when his vision clears.   
  
Corvo lays dead, blood pooling around him, a sword - Daud's knife, the knife that murdered Jessamine - thrust through his belly.    
  
“No!” The sound is ripped from him, a ragged scream that's lost on the wind. He falls to his knees beside the still warm body, checking for a pulse, for breath, for anything that could save him.    
  
“Well,” Corvo's familiar voice says from behind him. “That wouldn't have been my first choice, but I suppose it's better than having my throat cut.”   
  
Daud spins, knees soaking with Corvo's blood. 

  
Standing just behind him, flanked by darkness, is Corvo. Magic and black, inky liquid float around him, and there's a wash of wet material on Corvo's side. He plucks at it, an expression of distaste skating over his face. 

“Corvo,” Daud breathes in relief.   
  
“Mm,” Corvo says, his head tilted to the side like the crow he'd been named for. “Not quite.”   
  


“What?”

  
“Hello, Daud,” he greets, even, blank and broken. “I am the Crow... how are you enjoying my Mark?”   
  
His eyes are black, from lid to lid.    
  
Daud howls.   
  
He wakes in the middle of the night, cold sweat damp on his forehead, the taste of sour bile in his mouth, and the sound of Corvo's mocking laughter in his ears. He’s gasping for breath, shaking and cold, but the bile stays down. He goes to lurch upwards, but the weight of Corvo's arm sprawled across his chest stills him.   
  
He steadies himself, and breathes.

*


	3. 3. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Is,” she starts to ask, and has to pause to swallow back un-Empress-like tears. “Is Corvo dying?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for all the people who left such lovely reviews, Dani of course, for whom this story wouldn't be written and Estora, for the editing and brainstorming. <3 Thank you all so much, your comments give me life and so much encouragement. Thank you for everything.
> 
> Warning for some uncomfortable themes with adults not listening to teenagers, as well as the Havelock warning. 
> 
> **Important Note: I have not played DOTO. I know the salient spoilers, but I will likely not be including much, if any content from Death of the Outsider. This is a spoiler free zone.**

“Daud,” she says, slipping out of her office and around Thomas and Rinaldo.   
  
Daud, who had been halfway down the hall, pauses and turns back to face her. “Empress?” he prompts.   
  
“I would speak with you,” Emily says, tilting her head toward her office.   
  
There's a second where Daud looks like he wants to refuse and Emily knows how poorly she'll handle that when he nods once. She backs into her office, letting Daud through the door, and pushes it closed behind him. “What can I do for you, Empress?” Daud asks, the very picture of a cordial Royal Protector.

Emily sinks into her chair, letting the hard wooden back dig into her spine. “Is,” she starts to ask, and has to pause to swallow back un-Empress-like tears. “Is Corvo dying?”   


She rarely sees Corvo at meals. He sometimes comes to find her when she's in her office wishing she'd paid attention to her tutors before her mother had died. His eyes are more brown than silver-blue most days, and Piero mutters to Sokolov when he thinks she can't hear him about Corvo's health.

Corvo is getting worse, and no one is telling her anything.

  
Daud’s breath whooshes out of him as though he's taken a punch, and he leans back on the edge of her desk. “No,” he finally grinds out. “He's not dying.”   
  
“But he isn't well,” Emily snaps.   
  
There's a longer pause before Daud finally murmurs, “No. He isn't well, either.”   
  
Emily needs to take a deep breath of her own before she can speak again. “What can I do?”   
  
Daud looks away from her. “Keep the Overseers off his back,” he answers. “Give him space to work.”   
  
“What's happening to him?” Emily demands, her voice coming out too young and reedy. She swallows hard around the lump in her throat, and tries again. “Please, Daud. Tell me what's happening.”   
  
He's silent for another long moment, before he says, “Corvo is trying to find his way back into the Void. Delilah's paths are closed to us, and I don't have my powers. As the sole witch awake, and aware, he's on his own.”   
  
“Has he gotten any closer? He only reports to me on the things he sees, not what he's been doing,” Emily says. She crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing her arms to chase away some of the pervasive chill in the Tower.   
  
Daud's second hesitation is even longer. “He has some leads,” he finally reports. “It's definitely not painting.”   
  
“... Painting?”   
  
“He attempted to recreate Delilah's painting into the Void.” He finally smiles a little. “Between you and me, he's a shit artist.”   
  
Emily stares at him, then snorts.  The amusement doesn’t last long though, and anxiety rises once more in its wake.

“I don't think I can do this,” she murmurs.   
  
“You can because you must,” Daud says.   
  
That doesn't help. That doesn't help at all, and he doesn't understand. She presses her hands to her face, feeling fraught and tense, as though she's on the brink of crying but no tears can emerge. Perhaps if they did he'd look at her and see her properly and understand the way he used to before all of this mess -   
  
"Hey."   
  
Daud's gloved fingers slip around her wrists, tugging her hands away from her face. She tries to grasp his hands back, to cling to him the way she used to, but he releases his hold on her and her hands close around cold, thin air.   
  
“You have to do this, because there's no one else who can.”   
  
She wonders now if this is how Corvo felt when he was in Coldridge. If she opens her mouth she thinks she'll scream, so instead she just nods, her heart heavy and her hands twisting in her own lap.   
  
  


She wants her mother.   
  
“You're doing fine,” Daud says, but his fingers are slack on the edge of desk, and he doesn't reach out to grasp her shoulder. There are two feet of distance between them, and Emily feels like she's looking at a stranger.   
  
Emily swallows, and the urge to scream abates enough for her to say, “Thank you.”   
  
Daud winces at that, but he still doesn't move to embrace her like she so desperately needs. “I know that's not what you want to hear,” he says. “I'm sorry for that. But you  _ are _ doing well.”   
  
“I'm glad you think so,” Emily says tonelessly. Her fingers clench on the stiffly ironed pleats of her pants, wrinkling the fabric beyond repair.   
  
There's another horribly awkward silence between them. Emily hasn't felt so removed from Daud since she was eleven and they were first settling in Karnaca.

“If... Corvo does successfully open a Portal to the Void,” Daud says, breaking the silence, “I'm going with him.”   
  
She suspected as much, but hearing her fears spoken out loud hurts like a knife to the back. She breathes through the shock of pain, digging her fingers into her thighs.

“I thought as much,” she says, and blinks away the rough, gritty feeling in her eyes.   
  
“We'll appoint people in our stead, of course,” Daud says, like he isn't ripping out her heart one vein at a time. “Thomas will make a fine Spymaster, and I'm sure Burton will happily agree to be your Protector. Or, Rinaldo.”   
  
“That will be fine,” Emily agrees, and saying the words makes her throat tighten alarmingly. It's getting harder to breathe through the agony in her chest. She deepens her breathing, wrapping her arms around herself.   
  
Everything hurts, and Daud is two feet in front of her and doesn't even notice.

“So far he's had no luck,” Daud repeats. “But he's getting closer by the day.”   
  
“Will you say good-bye, before you leave?” she asks, and she can hear the misery in her voice.   
  
“Of course,” Daud says with the audacity to sound surprised by the question. “We wouldn't leave you.”   
  
They already have.   
  
“You'll be careful?” she makes herself ask. Even if Daud doesn't want to be her father anymore - and why would he, really? - she still cares.   
  
“As careful as we can be. It'll be dangerous, but, this is important to Corvo. And,” he adds grudgingly, “to me.”   
  
Emily clenches her teeth. Her head aches with the force of it, but she ignores it. “And after?” she forces herself to ask.   
  
“After,” Daud says, looking down at his left hand. “After, if it all goes well, I’ll have a Mark again. And so will you.”   
  
As though Emily cares about getting her Arcane Bond back.   
  
“I don't think that will be necessary,” Emily says, letting the words fall between them like knives. “It wouldn't be seemly for the Empress to constantly hide a heretical Mark, would it? It would be best I don't consider myself above the Strictures.”   
  
He has to realize it now. He has to see how she really feels. He can't believe she feels that way.   
  
“You're probably right,” Daud says, and shoots her through the heart. “Considering how diligent the Overseers have been about witchcraft, you'd be safer without it.”   
  
The wail in her chest burns every time she swallows and Emily clings to her control by the edges of her nails. “Of course,” she says, the bone-deep shiver returning. She can't feel her fingertips, her toes. “We wouldn't want another incident like the one at Whitecliff.”   
  
Daud's lips thin at the reminder. “Exactly.”   
  
She can't do this anymore.

“I have a meeting,” Emily says, looking at the clock and lying through her teeth. “We can continue our discussion later, if you wish.”   
  
Daud frowns, the first sign he's noticed something amiss. “Empress?” he asks.   
  
Not Emily. Never Emily, not anymore.   
  
  


She's about to stand, to flee from Daud and the awkward stilted conversation, when the sound of displaced air echoes through the room.   
  
Corvo stands in a cloud of feathers and ash, and Daud stands, going to his side immediately. “Corvo?” he asks.   
  
Her father is flush and smiling, happier than he's been in a year. “I did it,” he says, turning to grab Daud's arm. There's no hesitation there, Emily notices bitterly. Corvo reaches for Daud easily and Daud allows him the privilege. “I know how to get into the Void.”   
  
Emily viciously bites the inside of her cheek, and tastes blood a moment later.  “Now what?” she asks.   
  
“Now,” Corvo says, looking at her with the same elated grin, “Now I can save the Outsider.”   
  
Funny, Emily notes, letting the ice close over her head, how her father is more willing to risk his life for a god than he is to support his own daughter.   
  
“When do you leave?” she asks, hollow and worn.   
  
“Tomorrow,” Corvo answers. “We'll go tomorrow.”   
  
She escorts them to the door of her office, closing it behind them and leaning against it heavily. The scream dies in her throat before she can unleash it, leaving her empty, her chest cracked open.   
  
Is this how her mother felt, sitting behind this very desk, so long ago? Emily leans her arms against it, and buries her face against them, hiding in the dark.   
  
They never should have come back to Dunwall.   
  
*

Even without magic, Emily can feel the Void in the air.   
  
Corvo stands with Daud, a basket of bones at his feet. There's whale oil spread in a rough circle around the room, and there's a low hum and chime of whalesong on the wind. Corvo picks up the basket of bones and Emily can see that they're black, glowing faintly with blue light.   
  
  


“What's the official story, Em?” Corvo asks.   
  
The nickname warms some of the ice in her chest. “That you and Daud have traveled to Morley and Tyvia to begin a good faith trade with them, after Delilah's failure to uphold the trade agreement,” she recites, for the third time in an hour.   
  
Corvo nods, and tosses a fragment of bone into the air.   
  
There's a chime, and the bone dangles there, as though held up by a string. It sings faintly, as the wind hits it. He tosses another, and it too doesn't fall. The whalesong gets louder.   
  
Daud steps away from Corvo's side to go over to Thomas, who stands dutifully by Emily’s side. “Rinaldo will be the Spymaster while Corvo is gone. You'll be Lord Protector in my stead,” he says and Thomas nods.

Emily wonders if they'd argued who would become Protector or Spymaster.

Daud’s expression is difficult to read but as soon as he shrugs off the Protector's blue coat and hands it over to Thomas, he steps back into Emily's space, nodding at her. She wants to take his hand but that could 'give off the wrong impression', so she balls her fingers into fists and offers a small smile in return.   
  
One by one, Corvo throws the bones, until he has a tall circle floating in mid air. The music thrums through her, bringing tears to her eyes. Corvo turns back to her, one last bone clenched in his hand. “Emily,” he says, his eyes a molten silver. “Be safe. Good luck. We'll be home soon.”   
  
He tosses the last charm into the air, and the portal snaps into place.

“Dad!” she calls, the cry ripped from her.   
  
“Don't worry about us,” he calls over the sound of whalesong and some music uniquely his own. “We'll be back before you know it.”   
  
Daud catches her eyes. “Be safe, Empress,” he says.   
  
She breaks from Thomas' side, but the portal swallows them both before she can reach them. The bones fall around the whale oil circle, shattering on impact.   
  
Corvo and Daud are gone.   
  
  


The grief that had been living inside her chest since her conversation with Daud finally shakes loose.   
  
She sits in the circle of oil, magic and bone and sobs. She can't stop it, she's spent too long choking it back, and the grief has taken on a life of its own. Emily is only partially aware of Thomas trying to speak to her, his hands at his sides, but she can't hear him over the sound of blood pounding in her ears.   
  
Her entire body shakes with the force of her sobs, as she relives every time Daud pulled away from her, every time Corvo stayed away, every time she wanted a hug, and got nothing. She tries to breathe through it, and only succeeds in making her chest hurt worse.   
  
A hand drops onto her shoulder and she looks up, blinking away tears. Havelock looks down at her, concern written all over his face. “Emily?” he asks.   
  
It’s been so long since anyone other than him has called her by her name. She thinks she’ll scream if he starts calling her Empress, too.   
  
She shakes her head, curling her arms around herself.   
  
“Emily,” he repeats, and when she looks up a second time, Havelock is holding out his arms.   
  
She finds herself tumbling into the embrace, clinging to his jacket, and sobbing into his shoulder. Her mother is dead, her fathers have abandoned her, her heart is broken.   
  
Havelock doesn't speak, he simply holds her, letting her cry.   
  
She loses track of time. When Emily looks up again, the sun has begun to set, and she feels empty. Her chest aches, and her eyes are sore, and she feels as though someone has hollowed her out.   
  
“Better?” Havelock asks her, not letting her go until she pulls away on her own.   
  
Now that the storm is over, Emily blushes, looking away. “A little,” she says, clearing her throat. She sounds ruined, her voice broken into pieces. “I'm fine.”   
  
Havelock only helps her to her feet. “If you're certain, Emily,” he says. He doesn't make her defend herself, and the relief she feels at that is staggering. “Shall we adjourn to dinner?” He offers her his arm, elbow bent.   
  
“I believe I shall take my dinner in my rooms tonight, Admiral,” Emily says. “I fear I won't be fit for polite company.”   
  
“Of course,” Havelock says courteously. He walks her the entire way to her quarters, where he hands her off to Thomas. Havelock bows when they arrive, and steps back. “I will see you in the morning meeting. Esma Boyle will be back in force, I fear.”   
  
  


“Good night, Admiral,” she says instead. “I will see you in the morning.”   
  
Once her door is safely closed behind her, she lets some of the steel out of her spine, slumping back against it and closing her eyes.

“He sent me out of the room.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, she opens her eyes to look at Thomas. “Why?”

Thomas glares at the floor. “He said it wasn’t suitable for me to comfort you.”   
  
Emily frowns. “What does that mean?”   
  
“It means I'm too obviously young for anyone in your Parliament to be comfortable with my appointment.”   
  
“I don't understand what - oh. Oh.”

It strikes her then; Thomas was considered a catch back in Karnaca. He reminds Dunwall too much of history, and how often it's repeated.

  
Thomas grimaces. “It also means that everything we do together will be analyzed and put under intense scrutiny.” He reaches out and taps her elbow. “I'm afraid we won't be able to get away with our fighting lessons any longer, Em.”   
  
“I can get them from someone else,” she says. “Maybe... Pip?”

Thomas' face arranges itself into polite incredulity and she sighs.

“Alright, not Pip. I... could ask Havelock.”   
  
“If you do, bring Pip, or me, or Rin. I’d rather you didn’t go alone.”   
  
Emily frowns. “Havelock has never been anything other than perfectly decorous, Thom,” she chastises.   
  
“And we'll see to it that he keeps it that way,” Thomas says. He pushes away from the desk he's been leaning on and tilts her chin up. “C'mon Princess. Let's get you cleaned up.”   
  
The ice in her chest has thawed enough that she feels like she can breathe for the first time in weeks.

Thomas is just being protective, she thinks as she washes her face.   
  
Dunwall has taken everything from her. Her mother, her life, her freedom.   
  
Her family.   
  
The least it can do is give her someone to rely on. Farley Havelock isn't exactly what she had in mind, but Dunwall owes her someone she can trust. She thinks she can trust him.

*

When Emily reaches her office in the morning with Thomas a respectful arm’s-length behind her, she finds Overseer Darnell in the waiting area, his music box curiously absent. Emily slows, letting Thomas step into the room first before following him in.

“Overseer,” she greets.   
  
“Empress,” Darnell says, a strange note in his voice that Emily can't place.   
  
She glances at Thomas who nods once. They're alone in the rooms, and from what Emily can see, Darnell isn't armed. “I wasn't aware we had a meeting this morning,” Emily notes.   
  
“We don't,” Darnell says. “I'm hoping you have some time to see me anyway.” The mask turns to look in Thomas' direction. “Alone.”   
  
Her first response is an immediate no. But Darnell's shoulders are tense and his fingers are twitching where they're clenched in the hem of the greatcoat he wears.   
  
She'd hoped to spend the hour before the meeting with Parliament going over Esma Boyle's trade treaty. “Fine,” she sighs. “Come in, I can spare a few minutes.”   
  
Thomas looks like he wants to protest but she scowls at him and he holds up his hands in surrender. Darnell goes into the office ahead of Emily and sits at the desk. Emily pushes her door closed behind her, knowing Thomas will be waiting on the other side.   
  
Taking her place on the other side of the desk, Emily folds her hands in front of her and looks up into the blank eyes of the Overseer mask. “Alright,” she says. “What seems to be the problem?”   
  
Darnell audibly swallows. “I spoke to Lord Attano and Lord Daud not long before they... left,” he says. “Lord Attano encouraged me to reach out to you.”   
  
Emily tilts her head to the side. “He did,” she repeats. “About what, exactly?”   
  
It takes Darnell a few false starts, but eventually he lifts his hands and unhooks his mask from his face. It occurs to Emily, as the mask falls to his lap, that she's never seen Darnell without it.

“Oh,” Emily says. “You...”   
  
“Hst!” Darnell holds out a hand, and Emily can see through the glove how her fingers are shaking. “Now you know.”   
  
In all the ways that Emily imagined this conversation going, Darnell showing her this is the last on the list.

“You've been hiding all this time?” Emily whispers, leaning in.   
  
“I had to,” Darnell says. “My brother has a weak heart, he could never go through the training it takes to become an Overseer. I took his name, and went in his place.” She fidgets with the mask before putting it on the edge of Emily's desk. “Clemente knows. We're both North Morlish - he took me under his wing a long time ago.”   
  
She speaks quickly, her words clipped, even as her eyes dart around to all corners of the room. Without her mask, Darnell looks like a trapped animal waiting to be revealed.   
  
Emily reaches across the desk and picks it up, handing the mask back to Darnell. “You've made your point,” she says. “There's no need to make yourself uncomfortable for my sake.”   
  
The mask goes on in a flash, and Darnell's shoulder's relax. “I almost didn't tell you.”   
  
“Why did you?”   
  
There's a short pause, before Darnell finally responds. “So that you can see we know how to keep secrets. I hold yours... now you hold mine.” Darnell stands then, bowing at the waist. “Thank you for your time, Empress. I won't take any more of it.”   
  
Darnell leaves without another word, and Thomas slips into the room after her.

“What was that all about?” he asks.   
  
Emily isn't quite certain what to say. She moves to shrug and stops halfway through the motion; looking down at her papers instead. “Information,” she says. “It seems my father is still looking out for me even when he's stuck in the Void.” She gathers up the folders for the meeting. “I'd like to get to the council room early, I think.”   
  
Thomas pulls a face, then tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Sure, Em,” he says. “Let's go.”

*


	4. 4. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Void is a mess._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Dani, Lex, Sera, and Estora - with special thanks to Es, for all the help. Thank you so much!! Every single one of you who leave comments, notes, or asks, it really makes my day, and I appreciate you all so much. Words really just aren't enough. This is for all of you. 
> 
> :D
> 
> As ever, I can be found at [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/), for all your needs.

The Void is a mess.   
  
The black ooze has congealed at the base giving it the impression of dark, black water where once there was simply nothingness. The air is frigid, wind blasting intermittently from no everywhere and nowhere at once.   
  
They most certainly are not dressed for this.    
  
Daud shivers, stepping closer to Corvo. “Well, we're here,” he says. “Now what?”   
  
Corvo isn't looking at the Void; he's looking back the way they'd come, and Daud turns to look. There is a ring of stones set into the platform, strangely formed pillars that lean against each other at odd angles. Daud has never seen this place before, but more importantly -

“The portal closed,” Corvo says. “Daud, the portal closed.”   
  
They're stuck here.   
  
Daud sucks in a deep breath and takes Corvo's shoulders. “We prepared for this,” he says, touching the bandolier on his shoulder. “Once we find the Outsider, he can send us back. We  _ prepared _ for this.”   
  
_ Unless they don't find the Outsider _ goes unsaid but largely heard all the same.   
  
Corvo finally turns away from the stone pillars and looks out over what little of the Void they can see. “I'm not certain where to begin,” he admits. “My plan started and ended with getting into the Void.”   
  
“Well done,” Daud says dryly.    
  
Corvo runs his fingers through his tangled hair, surveying the Void. “Honestly, we should look for something familiar. A Shrine, or the Heart, something that we recognize and go from there. Otherwise, looking for the Outsider will be like looking for a needle in a haystack when we aren't even sure if we're in the right field.”   
  
“Encouraging,” Daud mutters. “Well. You're the one who can transverse.”    
  
That makes Corvo grimace but he takes Daud's hand, lacing their fingers together. It's more affection than they've allowed themselves in weeks, and Daud tightens his grip. 

“Hold on tight,” Corvo says, and then the world twists around them in a dizzying whirl of color, ash, and when they land, feathers are swept away on the wind. 

This platform is much like the other one, a tilted over whale oil lantern illuminating it. Daud reaches out and rights it, keeping the oil from spilling out. The motion pushes it through the air, spinning it away across the wide expanse of nothing the Void has become.

It has the added benefit to revealing another platform and Corvo’s tattoos flare as they transverse across the nothing and land heavily on solid rock. 

Daud clears his throat and tightens his grip on Corvo’s right hand. “Do… we have to worry about your ability to transverse?” he asks. It comes out awkwardly, too rough, too offensive. 

Thankfully, Corvo just grins at him. “Not in the Void itself, no,” he says. “I’m fine.”   
  


“Fine is the best lie ever told.”

“Would I lie to you?” 

Daud comes up short. He halts, and Corvo’s hand almost slips from his, making Corvo turn back to look at him in confusion. “Daud?”

“You’re not fine.”

Corvo’s faint smile collapses slowly, fading into nothing. “No,” he finally says, quiet enough that the wind almost steals it away, “I’m not fine.”

“Corvo.” Daud’s fingers tighten on his. “ _ Talk to me. _ ”

Making an expansive gesture at the area around them with his free hand, Corvo scoffs. “Here? Now?”

He is tired of excuses. He is tired of avoidance, exhausted from the sneaking, the fighting, the subterfuge. Daud stands his ground. “It’s not as though there’s anyone else around here to listen.”

“We’re on a time table here, Daud, we don’t have a lot of -  _ mmph _ .” 

Corvo makes a muffled sound against Daud’s lips when he kisses him. They stand there, fingers tangled, Daud holding his elbow, mouths pressed together. It’s chaste - far more so than any of their other kisses, certainly - but Daud pours what he can into it. Corvo relaxes against him, wrapping his arm around Daud’s waist. 

“Don’t have a lot of what?” Daud asks, pressing his lips to the scruff on Corvo’s cheek.

“Leeway,” Corvo murmurs, but doesn’t pull away.

Daud leans back just enough to catch Corvo’s eyes. “We don’t know if we’re in the right field yet,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to - I’ll be fine,” Corvo says, but despite his words there’s no anger in his voice. “I need to find the Outsider, he saved my life -  _ twice  _ \- I owe him everything.” Corvo’s face crumples into something miserable. “I’ve abandoned him long enough.”

“Abandoned?” Daud repeats, his voice echoing. “Corvo, we thought he was  _ dead _ .”

Incredibly, Corvo just shakes his head. “Ignorance is not an excuse.”

“Oh, so I suppose you blame yourself for Emily as well.” He isn't being serious, but Corvo's guilty silence falls hard between them. “Outsider’s  _ balls _ , Corvo! _ ” _

Corvo's lips turn up in a smirk. “That's a bit blasphemous considering where we're standing.”

“I think he'd allow me the privilege, considering the circumstances.” Daud grabs Corvo's coat, fingers curling in the fabric by his throat. “None of this is your fault.”

The world began and ended with Jessamine’s murder; Daud accepted that a long time ago.

“All you’ve done for the last year is fix things that aren't yours to fix,” he continues when Corvo stays silent. “And we're going to find him, get home, and you can start living your life again.” 

Corvo kisses him gently; a tender press that makes Daud’s chest ache. “I’m glad one of us is certain,  _ amante _ .”

There’s no convincing him.

"You," Daud says, subsiding with a growl, "are lucky I love you." He goes to walk to the edge of the platform, only to be drawn up short by Corvo’s arm. "What?"    
  
"What did you just say?"

"What do y--" He cuts himself off, rewinding what he'd said back in his head, those three words echoing with perfect clarity. He turns very slowly to face Corvo again. "... Ah."

Corvo is staring at him, a flush over his cheeks. "Did you mean it?"    
  
For a split second, Daud considers denying it. He could tell him it was rhetoric. Hyperbole. Anything other than the truth, and Corvo would likely believe him. He could crush their fledgling relationship in a word, in a single damning syllable.   
  
Emily would never forgive him. Daud would never forgive himself.    
  
Daud has lived with that kind of guilt before.    
  
He has no desire to live with it again.

"Yes."   
  


Corvo just - stares.

  
It strikes Daud then, that they have never made promises. Never made plans beyond surviving Delilah, surviving Leviathan. Strikes him that for Corvo, this could be... a diversion. A fling. Easy, simple, without strings. And Daud may have just ruined it.    
  
He starts to pull away.

Corvo’s fingers tighten, vice-like on his. "Well," he says, hoarse. "I suppose in that case... I should tell you I love you too."

Daud's throat goes tight. "But - Jessamine..." he can't stop himself from saying.    
  
Corvo smiles. "I loved Jessamine. I will always love Jessamine. But that doesn't mean I don't have room in my heart for you, too. Her ghost has laid between us for too long, don't you think? Perhaps it's time to finally let her rest."   
  
“I don’t know how to do that,” Daud admits.

“How about we figure it out together, then.”

They hold each other for a few minutes more before Daud pulls away, clearing his throat. “We should move on,” he mutters.

Corvo nods, and lets go of his hand. Daud hasn’t worn gloves since losing the Mark, and his hands feel cold at the loss. 

He watches as Corvo steps up to the ledge, arms loose at his sides. His bare skin is too pale in the light of the Void, made paler by the light filtering into his tattoos. The light grows brighter and brighter until it abruptly dies and Corvo turns back to Daud.

“I know a way, I think,” he says, holding out a hand for Daud. 

Daud takes his hand immediately, bracing himself for the sickening lurch of an assisted transversal. 

They spin out onto another platform and Daud freezes. He hadn’t expected their jaunt into the Void unassisted to be easy; he’d known their work was cut out for them. 

He hadn’t expected the Void to be  _ cruel _ .

In the frozen scene immortalized on the platform before them Burrows stands over a bound and gagged Corvo, the Royal Torturer standing too close to one side, a cruelly sharp hook in his hands. The Burrows of the memory is wielding a piece of paper and when Daud steps around Corvo to read it, his chest tightens even further. 

_ GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY _ spills out over the page, written in a messy but legible hand.

“That’s Jessamine’s handwriting,” Corvo says, his voice hard.

“Did this happen?” Daud asks, gesturing with the paper before letting the wind take it over the edge of the platform.

Corvo looks away, nodding once. “What was on the paper was different.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask but Daud bites back the question. 

The Corvo in the memory is sneering; despite the blood trickling from his broken nose and split lip. The wet, red patches on his shirt go ignored and Daud wonders when this had happened during his six month stint at Coldridge. “Burrows was a fool,” Daud says. 

“A competent fool,” Corvo agrees. He reaches out and takes Daud’s wrist, turning his back on the scene. “This is a distraction, ignore it.”

It takes a few more transversals before they come across the next distraction, and Daud is disoriented enough not to recognize the scene for several long seconds.

The Daud from the memory is young, his face unscarred and unlined. “Void,” Corvo swears, letting go of him to take in the frozen people of Daud’s past. 

A street of Batista is erected before them, dust piles spread across the platform. Daud’s child self stands half in shadow, reaching out in desperation toward a girl in a blue dress, dark hair spilling down her back.

On Daud’s other side are two hands, attached to scarred up arms, reaching out of the darkness and wrapped around him. 

“What’s happening here?” Corvo asks him quietly.

Daud breaks from his side to go over to the girl, moving slowly around her frozen form to look at her face, but even in the Void, her face is in his shadow.

Of course.

“Who is she?” Corvo asks.

“My sister.”

Corvo’s noise of shock makes him look back toward where his Master pulls a younger him away. “Your  _ what _ ?” 

The girl in the frozen memory has hair like his mother’s, long and gently curled, tied back with a white ribbon. Her dress is patched with messy stitches, and Daud reaches out to trace the one on her shoulder. It doesn’t feel like cloth; instead it feels like ice under his fingers. 

“I fixed this dress for her,” he says, and it feels like even the wind stops blowing to hear him speak.

A moment later, Corvo’s arm slides around his waist, fingers curling in the fabric of his jacket. “What was her name?”

“I don’t remember,” Daud murmurs. “I don’t even remember what she looked like. I was twelve here, maybe younger. She was only seven.” Her hair slips through his fingers like rain. “I never saw her again. After I escaped my Master and returned to Batista… the house was boarded up and she was gone. I tried every orphanage, every poorhouse, every gang den I could think of.”

“Where was your mother?” Corvo asks, tightening his grip on Daud’s hip.

“She died before this,” Daud says, gesturing sharply to the memory in front of them. “Less than a year had passed. We were poor but happy, and with the money I could pickpocket, plus what I made as a fisherman’s apprentice I made sure we had plenty of food.” His fingers clench into fists. “When he took me, she was alone.”

“Daud,” Corvo murmurs.

“It was easier to forget about her,” he snarls, stepping away from Corvo and the girl he’d done his best to erase. “Easier to pretend I came from nothing, and had no one. She’s gone. Leave her in the past where she belongs.”

He walks to the edge of the platform, resolutely turning his back on the memory. After a few seconds of hollow silence, Corvo joins him, his hand hovering between them. They don’t speak as Daud laces their fingers together.

They don’t get a reprieve. 

Daud swears violently when Overseer Martin’s face coalesces from memory into being.    
  


Corvo’s movements stutter to a halt, as he absorbs the scene in front of them. “Really?” he sighs, and turns away, leaving Daud to stare into the frozen room.

He remembers the tail end of this night, crawling through the music to get to him, Paolo at his heels. Emily, her aim true despite the pain. They aren’t in the memory before him, it’s only Martin, leaning over Corvo’s scarred left arm, a bonesaw in his hands. 

The Corvo manacled into the chair is screaming, face twisted into a grimace of denial and pain. There’s a leather band tied tightly around his bicep, and Daud reaches out to brush his fingers over it.

If his sister had felt like ice, Corvo feels like fire.

Daud snatches his hand back, looking down at his fingertips for burns. “They aren’t just a distraction,” Corvo says from the doorway to the room. “They are things that are, things that have been. Things that may one day come to pass.”

Daud turns away from the unwanted reminders of their history and faces Corvo. “I always thought it was the Outsider,” he admits.

“In some ways, it was,” Corvo answers, face still turned away from the scene. “As the avatar of the Void, I assume he had some control over what it did. Now though, either the Void is playing with us or it's simply reaching for something to halt us.”

Daud slides over to where Corvo stands, blocking his view of the room. “Why these memories?” he says, gently ushering Corvo away.

“They're powerful.” Corvo allows Daud to manhandle him, going willingly to the edge of the platform. “We may remember them imperfectly, but they are points in our lives where we stood at a crossroads.”

“He always did like giving us choices.”

Corvo takes his arm and he's given little warning before finding himself on another platform. “Sorry,” Corvo murmurs. “I had no desire to look at that memory. Likely why it was chosen.”

Daud isn't sure what to say to that; he just feels as though their time in the Void is only going to get worse rather than better.

Breaking away to focus his magic, Corvo points to a far platform. “That way, I think.”

“How can you tell?” 

“I'm guessing,” Corvo says dryly. “I'm just feeling for strong concentrations of magic.” He holds out a hand for Daud to take. “Then, I'm just… hoping for the best.”

It takes several more transversals - some of which land them on precarious ledges - before they come across the next frozen memory. 

Jessamine’s body is a bright splash of red across white marble. 

Corvo and Daud stand there, still hand in hand, staring at the tableau. “Well,” Corvo says tightly. “Of course.” There’s another bit of paper floating on the air by her immobile head, and Daud pulls it out of the air. “Don’t bother. It’s just going to tell me I couldn’t save her.”

Flipping it over to read the handwriting scrawled across the page, Daud feels a familiar clench of guilt.  _ ALL YOUR FAULT ALL YOUR FAULT ALL YOUR FAULT _ dominates the page in his own scratchy writing. 

“Not this time,” he murmurs. “This memory belongs to me.”

Corvo looks over the page, folding it down so Daud can’t see the truth on it. “This one belongs to both of us, I think,” he says. 

“This is getting us nowhere.” Daud drops the paper and lets it whip away on the wind. “All we’re doing is revisiting things best left in the past. These memories don’t even include the Outsider.”

Pressing his lips together, Corvo nods. “I’ve noticed. I’m afraid that we’re chasing my own magic around in circles. Whether by ignorance or design, we’re no closer to finding the Outsider. Our magic is just too different, now.”

“So stop following your magic. There are rocks by the hundred, let’s just… go. Avoid things that feel familiar, now.” He makes a sharp gesture at the memory next to them. “I’m thoroughly sick of this.”

“You’re right.”

The world twists sideways and Daud finds himself balancing on another narrow rock face. “I’m thoroughly sick of that too,” he grumbles.

His timepiece doesn’t work in the Void, so Daud is entirely unaware of the passage of time, only that when they come to a stop, his stomach is lurching and he’s exhausted. Daud takes refuge against a pillar, leaning heavily with his eyes closed. 

"I think," Corvo says in defeat, "that we've been here before. Possibly more than once. I've never traversed the Void without my magic telling me where to go."

This time, when they move across the platform, the memory builds around them in bits and pieces. Daud’s heart goes cold as he recognizes his old office in Rudshore. As soon as the last piece snaps into place, Daud turns around. 

He sees himself, of course, dressed in a red coat that he hasn’t worn in months. A man is there with him, dressed in a bloody, bullet-hole torn Protector’s jacket, and wearing a metal mask shaped like a skull. 

Daud’s breath catches. Whoever the man is, he’s succeeded where many have failed - the Daud in the memory is dead. 

“This never happened,” he protests, moving closer to the tableau. “Is this the future?”

Corvo shakes his head. “No,” he says, stepping over to Daud’s attacker. “It’s not.”

He doesn’t recognize the mask; but Daud  _ does _ recognize the burn marks on the hand of the man attacking him. 

“This is  _ you _ .”

Silence stretches out between them and the scene of a reality that never came to pass.   
  
"The Void is taunting us," Corvo finally says. He holds up his hand to compare against the false memory. The Outsider’s Mark is absent from Corvo’s left hand, but that’s the only difference between them. “My magic brought us here.”   
  
"We need a guide," Daud says, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache, turning from the sight.    
  
Corvo offers him a wry smile that does nothing to hide his agony. "You can ask Leviathan, if you like. There's no one else here."   
  
"There is me." 

The voice comes from behind them - gentle, soft and as lyrical as the songs of the whales, and Daud whirls to face it. There is nothing else in the room with them, before a figure steps into the memory, limned in blue light. It's transparent. Floating.    
  
" _ Jessamine _ ," Corvo breathes.


	5. 5. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His eyes close. “Emily,_ please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is dedicated to the amazingly talented RosaEldi who drew me art when I was feeling down, you can see it here: [ Linky](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/post/165923747273/rosaeldi-missdreawrites-holy-son-of-a-fuck). It's amazing. 
> 
> Also a special thanks to Estora who cleans up my adverbs and makes me a better writer. 
> 
> Of course, everyone who comments, leaves asks, or messages - and everyone who reached out on tumblr this week especially, this is for you. Aeniala, doll, I hope you're feeling better! <3
> 
> As ever, I can be found on [ Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/) for all your needs.
> 
> Good luck :D

“Hey.” Emily looks up at Burton when he sticks his head through her office doorway, grinning. “You busy, Empress?” 

Emily gestures to the chair in front of her desk and closes the folder in front of her, giving him her undivided attention. “What can I do for you, Mr. Burton?”

His grin collapses a little. “Well, now I’m certain I told you to call me Gerome,” he says. He did, she well remembers the conversation, but Thomas has told her for six days now that she’s too informal with her extended family and the friends she made at the Pub. “I’m here ‘cause Admiral Havelock uh, he gave me a job?”

“He gave you a job?”

Burton nods. “Yeah. When the lower quarter drained, they’ve been openin’ the old buildings, and there’s a lot of refugees. Kids, mostly.”

Emily softens. “They’ve reopened the orphanage,” she realizes. 

“Havelock gave it to me.” Burton scratches the side of his neck, an intensely uncomfortable look on his face. “Not real sure what he was thinkin’, but he did.” 

“You’ll be a fine Patron of the Orphanage,” Emily says. “You were a good caretaker back in the Hound Pits.”

A blotchy swath of red covers Burton’s face. “Ah, I don’t know ‘bout that,” he mumbles. “I just didn’t want to leave without tellin’ you. An’ sayin’ thanks, for lettin’ me stay here.”

“Of course,” Emily says, with what feels like her first genuine smile since Daud and Corvo had left for the Void. “You and your cousin opened your home to the Weepers, I certainly wasn’t going to force you onto the street in thanks.”

Burton gives her a dry look. “Maybe  _ you _ wouldn’t,” he says. “But your friend Thom says your Parliament is mighty annoyed that you’re keepin’ gang members under your roof.”

Safe in her office, Emily rolls her eyes. “My Parliament can go hang,” she mutters. 

He barks a laugh, grinning at her. “Best not to say that where anyone can hear.”

“Yes, I know,” she sighs. “Be safe, Mr. Burton.”

“Who, me?” Burton stands up, almost tipping the chair over. He gives her a laconic, two fingered salute. “Don’t you worry about me, little sparrow.”

He leaves before she can respond, and Emily leans her forehead on her desk. She’s so tired; even when she lived at the Hound Pits, she’d never felt this exhausted in her life. Everything she does just weighs heavier on her shoulders. 

*

She checks the room where Daud and Corvo vanished every day. 

The whale oil is beginning to disappear, and the bones remain inert, lying shattered on the wooden floor. Logically, she knows there’s nothing she can do in the room - her magic was tied to Daud and Daud is… Daud is gone.

“Em,” Thomas murmurs from the door. 

“I know.”

He crouches next to her, fingers trailing through the whale oil. “I’m worried,” he breathes like a secret. “It’s been six days, and nothing.” 

“I  _ know _ .” They sit there together, shoulders touching, watching the sun creep across the floor. It’s time Emily can’t afford to spend, but Thomas doesn’t urge her along. “He was like a father to you too, wasn’t he?” 

Thomas’ shoulder twitches against hers. “He was. Daud didn’t want to take all of us in, but he always did. He... He wasn’t a father. But he was the most we’d ever gotten before. Me, Bils, the Twins. Daud was all we had.”

Emily breathes in slowly. “Alright.” She stands, shaking out the numbness in her legs. “Thomas, lock up this room.” It hurts her to say it. “The whale oil alone is enough to get the Overseers attention. Daud and Corvo aren’t here, and I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

It’s his turn. “I know.” He stands, offering her his arm. “I’ll see it done, Empress.”

He leads her from the room, pulling the door closed behind them. 

She pauses, fingertips pressed to the wooden door. There’s a large crack running through it, not enough to split the door in half but enough to scar the wood. “Goodbye,” she whispers, and Thomas locks it. 

Together they move down the hall and toward her office, Thomas just behind her. Havelock is waiting for her; she can feel Thomas go tense like a livewire at her back. 

“Emily,” Havelock says, bowing at the waist. “Lord Protector.”

“Admiral Havelock,” Thomas responds. “Empress, I’ll leave you to your meeting.”

His eyes tell her that he won’t be far. 

Unlocking her door, Emily leads the way into the office, settling back in her chair. “Admiral, I heard what you did for Mr. Burton,” Emily says, foregoing pleasantries. “It was very kind.”

“Please, Emily, I think we know each other well enough that you can call me Farley.” He sits across the desk from her, leaning his elbows on the edge of it. 

“Farley, then.” Emily crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s come to my attention that Parliament is unhappy with me.” 

Havelock smiles. “Parliament is usually unhappy. But, you’re right. The upper echelon of Dunwall yearns for the ways things once were, and the slower it takes in righting itself, the worse they get.”

Emily’s eyebrows raise. “They hid away in their manors out of the city for five years, living in the lap of luxury while the general populace starved or died of Plague. Now they have the audacity to whine at me while I pull together the people they abandoned?” 

“I’m aware of their hypocrisy,” Havelock says. “The point though, remains the same. For the past hundred years, the Empire has stood for the nobility. You’re the first Empress who has gotten the chance to stand for something more.” The strike against her mother hits her dead center in the chest. “Jessamine tried. But with the Plague in full swing, she was limited in her ability to put any of her plans into effect.” 

Scowling, Emily digs her fingers into ribs, the dull pain recentering her. “What would you have me do then, Farley?”

“Get married.” 

She flinches. “I’m  _ sixteen _ .”

Farley’s expression softens. “Not for much longer, Emily. The closer you get to eighteen, the more their pressure will increase. If you announce an engagement, it will keep them off your back.”

“Like who?” Emily demands. “I don’t know or care for any noble my age.”

Farley opens his mouth as if to say something, then stops himself, shaking his head.

“What?” Emily asks. “You have someone in mind?”

She’s valued his advice so far - anyone he suggests could surely be tolerable to maintain a temporary engagement with.

“Well…” Farley says, clearing his throat and meeting her eyes. “There is me.” 

The room goes silent enough that Emily can hear her own heartbeat. 

“You?” Emily repeats, faintly.

“I’m aware that I’m the last in a short list of choices, my dear,” he says hastily, “and that I’m hardly the eligible bachelor you may prefer, but it will get Parliament off your case, at least until you find someone else.”

Emily presses her lips together. “You’re right,” she says eventually. “If you’re my fiance, then the subject of marriage can be laid to rest until I’m eighteen. Very well. It’s a sound plan. I agree.”

Havelock nods. “I will attempt to make it as painless as possible, Emily. I will ask no demands of you, require no demonstrations of devotion or affection. We will weather this together, as friends.”

“Is that what we are?” Emily wonders.

“I’d like to think so.”

Slowly, Emily reaches across the desk and offers him her hand. “A deal, then.”

“A deal,” Havelock says. 

They shake.

*

“I don’t care,” Emily says. “I’m going with you to Bottle Street.”

Sokolov huffs, a low, annoyed growl. “Emily, you’re a smart girl, going into that weeper’s den will be  _ dangerous. _ ”

Emily stares at him. “Everything I have done up until this point has been dangerous, Anton.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I am going.”

“The weepers there are violent,” Piero points out mildly. “You are inoculated against the plague, but you are still vulnerable to injury.”

“So are you, Dr. Joplin.” She gestures to his person, then to Sokolov. “We’re all vulnerable to injury, and you’re taking precautions for yourselves, are you not?”

Sokolov puts down his crate of antidote with a hard bang. “Emily,” he barks. “You may be the Empress but we are grown men. We are far more able to take care of ourselves. Besides, your father would kill me.”

“Perhaps it’s escaped your notice, Anton, but my father is not here.” 

Sokolov flinches at that. “Emily.” He sounds so tired, worn…  _ old _ . He looks down at the box he’d just slammed into the desk, touching the tops of the bright red elixir’s there. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I have a brother in there.” Emily touches the inside of her vest, where her bone charm sits safely. “I need to see him.”

“Emily,” Piero says, looking away from his notes. “Whatever is left of your brother, he won’t be the man you remember.” 

Emily wonders about that daily. She knows that Daud had snuck into the enclosure to see Rulfio, and had returned looking hollow-eyed and bleak. “I’m not sure that’s true,” she admits. “My father gave him a bone charm, and you’ve both seen his magic at work. He reported that Rulfio kept his mind, despite being a weeper.”

Sokolov closes his eyes as though in pain. “Emily, be that as it may, do you really want to walk into that place and see him as he is now?”

“I do.” Emily meets his gaze. “Anton, do you have a guarantee that your cure will reverse the effects of the plague? If you don’t, I didn’t get a chance to say good bye, I would like to have one now.”

Sokolov drew himself up. “My cure works!”

“ _ Our _ cure,” Piero murmurs. 

“Have you used it on a weeper, Anton?” Sokolov pauses and Emily soldiers on. “We don’t know how reversing the plague will affect a weeper’s body, system, or functionality. If my brother has remained himself, then I can speak to him before we attempt to cure him. I can pass on a message to his twin, if need be.”

There’s a long pause after her impromptu speech, and Piero hands Sokolov the top to the crate of elixir. “Get your things, Miss Emily,” he says. “You may join us.”

Anton moves to protest but Emily grins. “Thank you, Dr. Joplin!”

She can hear them arguing as she darts from the room, heading for her own. She strips out of the white pinafore and vestlet that the Royal Tailor had dressed her in, changing instead to the costume she’d worn as one of Daud’s Angels in Karnaca. 

It would give her more protection than the flimsy fabric that she now wore as an Empress. Emily hesitates before strapping on her sword. 

As soon as she’s outfitted, she pulls open her door only to run into Thomas. 

“Really?” he asks, quirking one eyebrow. “You actually thought you’d manage to sneak out?”

“I’m not sneaking out,” Emily protests. “I’m going with Anton and Dr. Joplin.” 

“Where?” Thomas crosses his arms in front of his chest, filling her doorway up with his shoulders. 

Emily sighs. She’d hoped to avoid this conversation, especially with Thomas or Rinaldo. “... To Bottle Street,” she finally answers. “They’re starting the first Cure Trials.”

Thomas’ severe expression softens by degrees. “Rulfio,” he murmurs. 

“Rulfio.” Emily wants to hug him; Thomas looks as weary as Sokolov had sounded and the weight of all they’d lost drags his shoulders down. “Thomas, I need to go. For Rinaldo.”

He sighs, and lets his arms drop to his sides. Daud’s coat is slightly too big for him, and his hands disappear into the sleeves, making him look young. “Fine,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

“I expected no less.” Emily takes his offered arm, allowing him to escort her back to the lab. “Thank you, Thom.”

“Don’t thank me yet, princess,” he murmurs. 

Her fingers tighten on his arm but they’re too close to the guards for her reply with any sort of familiarity. Emily has few memories of her time with her mother; time and age have dulled them, but she remembers how carefully Jessamine and Corvo maneuvered around each other in public. 

Thomas helped raise her, but the eyes of the public never tire of scandal, as her mother was fond of saying.

The carriage to Bottle Street takes longer than she’s used to, the whale oil shortage doing much to hinder the cleanup progress. She sits with Thomas, picking at the skin along her thumbnail, waiting for their arrival. 

“You don’t have to do this, Empress,” he says. 

“Yes, I do.” She owes it to Rulfio, who had taught her the best ways to sneak, the best ways to hide in plain sight. Rulfio who had taught her what plants were safe to eat, how to aim with both eyes open. 

Daud had saved her from the Pendleton twins six years ago; Rulfio had given her the means to survive.

Bottle Street looks the same from the outside, the only difference are the guards mingling with the thugs that lived there. 

“The worst of the lot are inside the distillery,” Slackjaw says, stepping out of the doorway to the courtyard. “The ones who can still think enough to move, we’ve got them corralled around the yard.” Slackjaw’s eyes fall on Emily but he doesn’t comment on her appearance, instead he shoves the door open, allowing them through. “We found children, down in the sewers, half mad with hunger and bleeding from the eyes. Slackjaw made sure to keep them separate from the others.”

Piero and Sokolov exchange a loaded look. “We’ll start with the adults, I think,” Sokolov says. 

“The marked areas are safe,” Slackjaw says. “We got guards and my men aplenty, but don’t wander far.” He tips his hat to Emily. “Children are in the cage to the left, Empress. You should focus your attention there.”

Emily frowns but follows his finger when he points. There are small bodies curled up on benches that she can see, but little else. With Thomas at her shoulder, she breaks from the squad of guards and the doctors, to follow the path down to the cage. 

As soon as she gets within spitting distance, she sees him. “Rulf,” she breathes. 

His head comes up immediately, and Emily fails at schooling her expression. Rulfio looks  _ horrible. _ His eyes are red, shot through with blooms of blood that drip down his cheeks when he blinks. More blood is smeared around his mouth and chin, and the beginnings of a twisted scar fatten his lower lip and give him the appearance of snarling. His hair, once cut short and perfectly coiffed, is a matted mess of strands. His clothing is tattered, filthy and covered in dried blood. 

“Fuck,” he says, scrambling to his feet and pressing himself against the locked door of the cage. “Fuck, princess, who the hells let you in here?” 

“I’m the Empress now, Rulf,” she says, trying to smile. “There are few people who can stop me.”

Rulfio coughs, ragged, broken and wet, and he spits blood to one side. “You’re supposed to be the sensible one,” he says, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Em,  _ sorella _ , you can’t be in here.”

“I came for you. I needed you to know we still stood with you.” She takes another step forward, letting her fingers hook over his where they’re clenched in the bars. The children weepers behind him don’t even stir, and the sound of buzzing flies fills the silence. “We haven’t forgotten you.”

“Daud was here,” Rulfio murmurs, pressing his filthy forehead to her fingers. “I know.”

  
Emily transfers her grip from the bars to his hair, running her fingers through it. She'd known Daud had gone to the weeper corral, but he'd refused to speak of his brief time there. Her fingers catch on snarls and dried blood, but the way Rulfio slumps into the bars keeps her going.    
  
“I'm here with the Philosophers,” she finally murmurs. “They've designed a cure.”   
  
Rulfio opens one bloody eye. “Does it work?”   
  
“It worked on us.” Emily lifts her shoulders for a shrug before letting them drop slowly. Even here, she must be the Empress.    
  
There's another retching, hacking cough that tears Rulfio from her hands as he bends over, away from her, to choke out blood. It spatters the ground in hissing, red tinted yellow, and Rulfio flinches away from it. “They should hurry,” Rulfio murmurs, his voice barely a wheeze. “Most of us here can't eat regular food, anymore.”   
  
Emily absorbs that, noticing for the first time how thin Rulfio is. The wings of his collarbone are stark and deep where his shirt no longer fits him well at the shoulder. “What have you been eating?”    
  
“Nothing.” Rulfio avoids her eyes. “Rats, sometimes.”    
  
“Rulfio.”   
  
He wipes his mouth with his shirtsleeve again. “Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, Em.”    
  
She thinks about pushing it, until Rulfio vomits up blood and bile again. The force of his choking makes blood pour down his face, and Emily wishes she had something to give him. “What can you eat?” she asks instead.   
  
“Nothing that I won't give the children first,” Rulfio mutters, clinging to the bars as he wavers on his feet. She hooks her fingers into his again, and he squeezes them too tightly. “Where's Daud?”   
  
His voice breaks on the question, and he sounds so young that Emily feels tears spring to her eyes. “Officially,” she says, taking a deep breath to suppress unladylike tears, “he and Corvo have gone to Tyvia and Morley to discuss a trade agreement.”    
  
“And unofficially?”    
  
“Unofficially... They've gone into the Void.”Rulfio sags again, and the sudden weight on her hands makes Emily stumble too close to the bars. “The Outsider is alive, and they've gone to save h--”   
  
One of the children inside with him leaps at her, snarling, her mouth full of blood and eyes blank and empty. “No!” Rulfio chokes out, his ruined voice breaking on the volume. Emily jumps backwards as Rulfio grabs the girl around the waist, hauling her away from the bars.    
  
There's blood smeared down her leg from where the weeper had skimmed her clothing, but Emily pays it no mind. “I'll be back,” she promises. “I'll bring food, something soft, so you can eat it.”   
  
“Don't.”   
  
“Rulfio, you need to eat, you're starving!” Emily takes a step forward, but Rulfio jerks back, still hauling the moaning girl.    
  
Blood drips down his face when he blinks. “No, Empress. Don't come back here. Don't come anywhere near me. Just stay away.” He spits blood at his feet, and it leaves a smear across his chin. “I don't ever want to see you here again.”   
  
The words fall like glass inside her ribcage and Emily struggles to breathe through the sudden pain. “I can't just leave you in here,” she whispers.   
  
“You can, and you will.” He lets go of the girl, to run his shaking hand over his face, clearing away the blood. “Your father should have killed me when he had the chance.”   
  
“Rulfio!”    
  
His eyes close. “Emily,  _ please _ .”   
  
Tears press against her eyes but she forces them down. “Fine,” she says, icy and brittle. She turns on her heel and heads back toward where she left Thomas standing at the top of the courtyard, glancing back only once.   
  
She can still see him, but Rulfio is no longer watching her. He's collapsed against the back wall of the cage, his head in his hands. The tears are a violent storm inside her, but she presses them back until she can get home to the Tower.   
  
There, she lets them free.   
  
*


	6. 6. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Corvo’s spine goes stiff. “What happened to them?”_
> 
> _“They perished.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this is for my darling Dani, and for all the people who have reached out to me. I love your comments, your messages and your reblogs more than I can say. Thank you RosaEldi for your art, and your passion, and Estora, for making my writing better. <3 
> 
> I can be found on [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/), for all your needs.

“ _ Jessamine _ !”    
  
Corvo breaks from Daud's side, transversing across stone and shale to land in front of her specter.

“My love,” Jessamine breathes. “It is a fair wind that brings you here to me.”   
  
The words make Corvo drop to his knees, his head bowed. Daud can't see his expression from where he stands behind Corvo, but he can see Jessamine's. There's agony hidden there, along with longing. Corvo says something to her, but Daud can't hear it over the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.   
  
“Hush, love,” she says in response. “Spirits have always passed through the Void, and linger. I have simply lingered longer than most.”    
  
“The Crows?” Corvo sounds wrecked, his voice hoarse and strained.    
  
Jessamine smiles, and it does nothing to clear the grief in her expression. “Yes. They were me, and I was them. I have always been with you.”

Corvo makes a choked noise, and Daud realizes with a sharp shock that the fine tremors through his shoulders are actually sobs. He's known Corvo for over a year, and he's never seen him cry.   
  
Jessamine's agony is a visceral thing when she reaches out for him and her hands pass through his arms. The Void is cruel; Corvo chokes again, his own hands closing around thin air instead of Jessamine’s hands.

Daud holds back, his own hand aching to reach forward and grasp Corvo’s shoulder in comfort, but Daud knows it’s not his touch Corvo wants.

“Corvo,” Jessamine murmurs instead, pulling her arms back and holding them against herself. “Look at me.”   
  
Corvo’s head comes up and she smiles once more. Daud had done more than his share of research on her before making the plans to assassinate her. He'd poured over pictures, paintings, and testimonies of her grace, beauty and poise. But he'd never seen her smile like she was at Corvo at this very moment.   
  
“Jess?” Corvo murmurs, and her right hand comes down, stroking the air by his left cheek. “You’ve been here all this time? Alone?”

“Not alone,” she concedes with a small smile. “For a time, I had the Outsider, and for a time, I had you.” 

There’s a short pause. Then Corvo asks, “... You were here? When he… died?” 

Jessamine nods. “Delilah came through the Void in a flurry of blood and bone, and when the Outsider greeted her as he would an old friend, she drove a sword straight through him.” Her expression folds in on itself. “It was the first time I’d ever seen him surprised.”

Corvo exhales sharply. “He spoke to me, through you.”

“Yes.” Jessamine looks out over the Void, away from them. “It was the last bit of influence he’d held onto, I think. It was worth it, for him to pass his message.” 

“It set me on this path,” Corvo murmurs. It set them both on this path, but Daud has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s become part of the Void to Corvo.

“We only have so much time. Leviathan knows you're here, and I'm only a spirit. I won't be able to do much more than guide you.”   
  
There’s no denying the eagerness in Corvo’s voice as he says, “You can guide us? Both of us?” 

For the first time, Jessamine looks at Daud. The smile fades from her face, leaving her expression perfectly flat. “Yes,” she says, inflectionless. “I can guide you.”

Daud opens his mouth to speak but the words die in his throat. What could he possibly say here? How can any apology or word of remorse make up for all he’s done? He stands in the desolate place  _ he  _ sent her to, and the words don’t come.

“The way is dark, and full of nightmares,” Jessamine says, eyes still on Daud’s. “Both yours, and his.”

“His? You mean Leviathan?” Corvo asks, finally rising to his feet.

Jessamine shakes his head. “No. I mean the Outsider.”

“What do you need from us?” Corvo prompts, hooking his fingers around Daud’s stiff wrist. Jessamine’s gaze drops immediately to where they’re touching and Daud stamps down the urge to pull away like a child.

“At least one of you retained your connection to the Void,” she says, and her form flickers before appearing within transversal distance on a different platform. “You must follow as best you can!”

The world twists sideways, and Daud stumbles when they land, his head pounding and his chest tight. To his credit, Corvo doesn’t drop his wrist, and Daud is able to hang on to him to regain his bearings. 

Jessamine barely spares him a glance, disappearing again and reappearing nearly out of Corvo’s range. With the Void at his disposal, Corvo’s pool of inner magic is almost unlimited, and he pushes himself harder and harder with every transversal.

They finally slam to a stop on a wide ledge, and Daud stumbles badly enough that he nearly slips. “Daud?” Corvo asks, sounding gratifyingly alarmed.

“Sorry,” he grunts. “I need a minute.”

It takes too long for the world to stop spinning, and his stomach to stop souring with the effects of too many assisted transversals. Once he feels like he can move without disgracing himself in front of the murdered empress, he looks up to take stock of their surroundings. 

The floating platform they’re standing on is large, and the only other one is behind them, in the direction they’d come from. Before them stands a great stone structure, dripping with black, reflectionless liquid that spreads like blood on the ground. 

Jessamine stands in front of the stone wall, and when she turns, she reveals a door set deep into it. 

It looks out of place, awkward and misaligned, but it seems to be the only way forward. “We have arrived,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that he can’t interpret. 

Corvo frowns, looking over the door. “The Outsider is here?” 

“Part of him,” Jessamine replies, though it explains nothing. “He allowed me to stay, six years ago, when he shaped the crows and gave them to you, a part of me will always be apart of him.” She gestured to the door. “Another part is here.”

Moving carefully, Corvo goes to the door, fitting his fingers around the handle. He pulls, and the world shifts sideways.

The room Daud finds himself in is too small for a grown man of his size let alone two. The room is made of same black stone that makes up the rest of the Void, and there’s a small window set into the far wall, narrow and covered with iron bars. 

A cot is shoved in the corner, where Jessamine stands, her legs disappearing into the filthy bedding. She grimaces, stepping out of the furniture, and she turns to face Daud and Corvo. Her expression, which has been flinty and cold every time she looked his way, flashes wide-eyed with alarm. “ _ Corvo _ !” 

Daud turns just in time to watch Corvo fold to the floor. The wall behind them is solid stone, the door they’d stepped through has disappeared, and the only exit to the room is a locked and barred door just past Corvo’s curled figure. 

Jessamine drops to her knees in front of Corvo, but when she reaches for him, her hands go straight through his shoulders. “Corvo!” she calls again, her voice gentle. “Corvo, it isn’t real. It’s a memory.”

Corvo looks up, face haunted. “It’s  _ Coldridge. _ ”

“It isn’t,” Jessamine and Daud say together. He looks down at her but she looks away. “This is one of the Outsider’s memories.”

Corvo’s right though. The small cell bears a startling resemblance to Coldridge prison; it’s no wonder Corvo mistook it. He carefully kneels next to Jessamine, doing his best to maintain an appropriate distance. 

“Corvo,” he prompts. It feels wrong being able to take Corvo’s freezing fingers in his own when Jessamine is less than a foot away and can’t offer him the same comfort. “Look.”

Daud can see the pulse beating rapidly at Corvo’s throat, can feel the cold, grasping feeling of terror rolling off him, but he doesn’t push. Slowly, Corvo turns his head to look. 

In the opposite corner to them, a boy is curled up on the floor, a dark eyed pillowed on skinny pale arms, dressed in rags that clearly do nothing to ward off the chill. 

“No wonder he came to me in prison,” Corvo whispers. 

Despite the fact that they’re taking up more than their share of the tiny room, and the boy’s blue eyes are open, he doesn’t react to them.  The cell door bangs open a second later, and the boy - the Outsider, Daud can see his familiar cheekbones in the gaunt lines of the boy’s face - scrambles to his feet. 

The language they’re speaking makes no sense to Daud’s ears, and he can tell by Corvo’s expression that he’s no more enlightened. 

The boy who was the Outsider cowers whenever his captor raises his hands, but still argues against whatever they’re talking about. The argument gets louder and louder, and the captor backhands the Outsider, sending him spinning to the floor. 

Corvo hisses through his teeth, and that spurs him to standing again, though he keeps his back to the barred window pointedly. 

“What is the point of this memory?” he asks through clenched teeth.

Jessamine rises to her feet beside him. “They are the worst of the things he’s forgotten. Leviathan brings them to life.”

The man in the robe has frozen, and Daud steps around him, leading Corvo around him. He’s still too pale, shaken and uncomfortable, and Daud wants them both out of this memory as soon as possible.

As soon as they’re through the bars and out of the cell, it fades into nothing, leaving them exposed on a large platform. Corvo’s tense shoulders ease the longer they stand there, Daud by his side, Jessamine hovering protectively. 

“Well,” Corvo says with a sigh. “That was… awful.” 

Privately Daud thinks that’s an understatement, but he’s more than glad the memories no longer just belong to Corvo or himself.

“We should move on,” Jessamine says. “It isn’t wise to linger.”

Corvo takes another few shaky breaths before he reaches out for Daud’s arm again. “I’m ready,” he says. This time though, he glances at Daud and waits for his nod. 

Once he gives it, Jessamine disappears, giving them another trail to follow. The world shivers and vanishes with each transversal until Daud stumbles again, his eyesight blurred. Corvo catches him when he lists to one side, steadying him. 

“Sorry,” Daud grunts.

“No, I am,” Corvo says. “This is no easier on you.” 

After a year's worth of physicality, the distance between them is stark, obvious. Though Corvo still holds him at the shoulder and hip, there’s several inches of space between their bodies and Daud can feel Jessamine’s judgement like an anchor around his neck. 

“You’ve never experienced an assisted transversal, have you?” 

“Can’t say that I have,” Corvo answers with a short chuckle. “Before you, I’d never met anyone with the Mark.” At that, they both look down at their bare hands. “You should eat something, it might settle your stomach.”

Daud reaches into their supplies, wrapped and tightly connected to his belts and jacket before pulling out a loaf of dark grain Serkonan bread. If nothing else, it will soak up the sour acid that he can taste on every swallow.

He breaks the bread in half, offering one side to Corvo. “I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I’m certain we’ve missed lunch,” he says dryly.

Corvo takes the offered food with one hand, pulling out a silver watch from his pocket. A comically annoyed expression crosses his face and he sighs. Before Daud can ask, he flips the watch so the face points in his direction. “Useless,” Corvo sighs, as the hands on the watch spin randomly, each hand moving in a different direction at different speeds.

They could have been in the Void for one day already - or an hour - and they’d never know. 

“Jess?” Corvo asks, gesturing to the watch.

She turns to look, and smiles at Corvo with fond - if indulgent - amusement. “Time passes differently in the Void,” she says. “It has been six years since I last drew breath, but to me, it has barely been moments.”

“What?” Daud asks sharply, the half-eaten loaf of bread crumbling as his hands tighten. Both Jessamine and Corvo look at him, but Daud only has eyes for one of them. “If the time difference between here and Dunwall is so great, then Emily will think we’re dead.”

Corvo’s bread falls to the ground. “Jess,” he says, turning around desperately. “Jess, is there any way you can see into our world?”

“No, my love,” she answers, and she reaches out to brush the space just in front of Corvo’s cheek again. “Without the Outsider to guide my eyes, I am as blind as you are.” She pulls her hand back. “We are close to another memory.”

Daud finishes the rest of his bread in two bites, not feeling particularly hungry anymore. Corvo takes his hand this time, and Daud can feel how his fingers tremble. He wants to lace his hand with Corvo’s but he curbs the urge, aware of Jessamine’s constant gaze.

It’s only another two transversals before they step out onto a platform already caught in a frozen moment of the Outsider’s life.

The room builds around them, ash, feathers and magic erecting walls that block them in. The room is stone, but windowed, curved panes of glass reflecting an eerie nothingness outside them. There’s rudimentary furniture laid out, two beds shoved into one side of the room, chairs and a table, an old stove gone black with coal. 

And, fit into the stonework of the walls, a medium-sized cage sits in the middle of everything, a young Outsider trapped within. 

He’s not much older than he was in the cell, his blue eyes still as piercing, but thinner than he was. His skin is stretched too thin over his cheeks, and his knuckles where his fingers cling to his knees are just slightly too large and knobby. 

The boy is starving.

As soon as they step into the room properly, the memory begins its macabre replay. The Outsider lists to one side, a dry cough wracking his thin frame. A door Daud hadn’t noticed is shoved open, and another man wearing a strange black robe with red trim storms in. 

He holds a cup, and the man places it on the floor just outside the cage, before shoving it inside the bars. He isn’t careful and more than half of the water inside it spills on the ground.

The Outsider makes a wounded noise that Daud thinks he will hear for the rest of his life, and the Outsider’s hands dart out to rescue the wobbling cup. He drinks it in several long gulps, before using his sleeve to soak up the spilled water and sucking that from the cloth.

The memory ends with the wide, defiant eyes of the Outsider staring up at the robed man. 

Corvo steps in front of the man as though that could block him from the Outsider, before he kneels next to the boy that was. “I’m coming,” he promises the fragment of their old friend. “ _ We’re  _ coming.” 

He reaches out to touch the Outsider, and as soon as his fingers make contact, the magic dissolves, crumbling to pieces around him. The last to go are the Outsider’s eyes, before the Void swallows them up too.

They’re left standing again in the middle of an open platform, inky darkness slicked against stone. “He told me once,” Corvo starts to stay, frowning down at the ground, “that the reason he became the Outsider was because he was a forgotten boy from a forgotten city. He said he’d planned to escape, and up until the very moment at the very end, he’d still thought he had time. Then the knife touched his throat, and he became a god.”

The words have a sick resonance, and they almost echo, hanging in the still air of the dying Void. Then there’s a low rumble, and the black oily residue that had covered everything of substance begins turning a dull red. It happens in fits and bursts, red blooming over black  _ alla prima _ , huge swathes of oil becoming blood.

Jessamine goes to grab Corvo’s shoulder, her hand going straight through. It works though, as he looks up at her. “Move!” she cries, and Corvo transverses to Daud’s side, grabbing him roughly before transversing away.

They end up above the last platform, watching blood take over and drip down into the never-ending ocean below them. 

Something breaks the surface, slick with water, oil and blood - great spines that pierce the mixture, which turns into a tail larger than the biggest ship Daud had ever laid eyes on, and then it too disappears into the water, leaving nothing but a ripple behind. 

“How did you know to move?” Corvo asks quietly, still looking down at the bloody platform. “What would have happened?”

Jessamine is silent for so long, Daud turns to see if she’s vanished too. She sits with Corvo, barely any space between them, silent and utterly still. “There have been others,” she finally answers. “Ones who were once Marked but are no longer. Ones who Leviathan had little interest in, but pulled through the barrier to toy with.”

Corvo’s spine goes stiff. “What happened to them?”

“They perished.” 

His lips part but no sound comes out and Daud feels compelled to interject. “How?”

Jessamine’s eyes flick to him, and for a second he thinks she’ll refuse to answer. “Ignorance,” she replies. “Foolishness, accidents. They had no attachment to me, and so they could not see me when I stood before them. The other spirits in the Void fled long before Leviathan woke up, so they were alone. When they could not escape the Void, they grew desperate. Their deaths were not kind.”

“And that?” Corvo makes a gesture to the endless ocean. 

Jessamine shakes her head. “Do not touch the water, my love.”

Like those other Marked, Corvo and Daud are trapped; but unlike the others, they walked in willingly.

There would be no more whales to save them now.

*


	7. 7. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Em,” a soft voice prompts. “Emily, you need to go to bed, not sleep at your desk.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my darling Dani, Lex, and definitely for Sasha. Extra special thanks to Estora for helping clean up my writing and ~~making Havelock worse~~ , and for all the people who reach out to me and leave comments, messages or asks. Thank you so much, all of you, for your support.
> 
> Warning, of course, for Havelock. 
> 
> As ever, I can be found at [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/), for all your needs.

“Em,” a soft voice prompts. “Emily, you need to go to bed, not sleep at your desk.”   
  
Bleary, Emily pries her eyes open, focusing on where Alexi kneels at her side. She's sporting a fond smile, and she pushes Emily's mussed hair out of her way. “Alexi?”    
  
“You didn't look very comfortable there,” Alexi teases her. “C'mon. I'll walk you to your rooms.”   
  
Still mostly asleep, Emily forgets to hide her annoyance with the coddling. “I can make it by myself, Lieutenant Mayhew.”    
  
Alexi blinks. “Of course you can?” she replies, voice tilted in confusion. “I was only offering you some company.”    
  
“... Oh.” Emily hasn't spent time with anyone socially since before leaving Karnaca. She had spent most of her free time there with the other women, and she had friends in Batista, but since coming back to Dunwall, she’s hardly seen anyone who doesn’t want something from her.   
  
“I can leave you be, if you like,” Alexi offers.   
  
“No!” Emily bites her lip. “That is... if you don't mind.”    
  
That brings the smile back to Alexi's face. “Wouldn't have offered if I minded, Em,” she teases. “Come on, you have ink on your face, and this floor is not comfortable.”

Alarmed, Emily goes to wipe her face with the back of her hand only to find Alexi grinning at her. “You’re a callous and disagreeable woman, Mayhew.”

“You’re stuck with me, Kaldwin.” She rises to her feet and holds out a hand for Emily to take. 

Emily takes it, letting Alexi pull her to her feet. She tries not to cling to Alexi’s hand, but it’s been weeks since anyone touched her beyond an official capacity. Her fingers twitch and Alexi glances at her. They walk together from the office to her rooms, and Alexi pauses at the door. 

“It’s not that late,” Emily says. “You’re welcome to come in.”

Alexi hesitates for an eternity that kills Emily inside before she finally smiles. “Sure. I don’t have patrol until tomorrow morning.” 

Once they’re inside though, Emily has no idea what to do or say; other than talking about legislation or the recovery effort.

“Would you like something to drink?” Emily asks, feeling awkward and stilted. 

There’s another eternal pause when Alexi smiles. “You don’t have to entertain me, Em, I’m pretty easy.” She toes off her boots, setting herself cross-legged on the edge of Emily’s bed. “You’ve been so busy lately, I don’t think I’ve seen you relax since you sat on that throne.”

“Empresses don’t relax,” Emily says. 

“Oxshit,” Alexi says, her smile wiped away. “Emily, you’re going to  _ break _ .”

She presses her lips together. “Empresses don’t do that either.” 

When Alexi grabs her, Emily’s left hand twitches awkwardly, before the sensation registers. Alexi is warm in away Emily hasn’t been since leaving Karnaca. “Don’t pull away,” Alexi says, turning her around and catching her in a tight hug. “No one is here but us.”

Emily doesn’t have the emotional willpower to fight her. She clings to Alexi, fingers digging into the back of her stiff uniform. 

“Void, Em,” Alexi murmurs, tucking her in close. “It’s alright. You don’t have to be the Empress in here with me. You can just be Emily.” 

That makes Emily’s chest tighten with tears. “What if there is no Emily?” she whispers.

Alexi pulls back just far enough to meet Emily’s eyes. “I know that can’t be true. You’ve been working too hard. Just tell me what’s going on in your head.”

Emily lets Alexi lead her to the bed, lets her kneel and take off Emily’s uncomfortable shoes. She doesn’t fight when Alexi climbs back up on the mattress and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I can’t  _ be  _ Emily,” she finally murmurs, staring down at her hands. “There’s no room to be me right now, Alexi. Everyone is looking at me, waiting for me to slip up, to make a mistake I can’t take back. I’ve already made too many.”

“Emily, you’re only sixteen, they’ll forgive a few small mistakes.”

Without moving, Emily turned her head to look at Alexi’s profile. “No, they won’t. They’ve been burned by Burrows, by Delilah, by time. After I admitted that Corvo was my father - which was a ‘small’ mistake by the way - the littlest thing could set them off. I’m  _ too young _ ,  _ too inexperienced _ and with the exception of Farley, I’m completely alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Alexi says sharply. She shifts on the bed so that she’s on her knees, facing Emily. “You have Lord Protector Thomas, and me, and your friends from Karnaca.”

“Friends that I can’t speak to with familiarity!” Emily pulls her knees up to her chest. “Parliament wants me to be the perfect Empress, and I’m just… not.”

Alexi hugs her again. It’s the most anyone has touched her since Corvo and Daud left. “How can I help?” 

“I don’t know, just… I don’t want to talk about being Empress, or the food shortage, or the rats, or that I have to  _ marry someone _ .” 

There’s a seconds worth of pause where Alexi looks alarmed by that before she nods. “I can do that. Tell me about Karnaca. I’ve always wanted to go.” 

Emily  _ misses _ Karnaca. She misses the way the rooms in the old converted warehouse were always full of sunlight, and the warmth that forced them to the roof where the wind off the pass would keep them from overheating after a long day of work. 

“We left a lot of family behind,” Emily says. “Cici, Kita, Jacobi, Jenkins, Quinn… They’re still in the Aventa Quarter, and as soon as the blockade breaks, we’ll be able to see them again.” 

Alexi smiles, leaning back on her heels. “Anyone special?”

“Special?” Emily blinks. “There was… there might have been someone. I didn’t know them well, they… their name was Wyman, they belonged to a gang.” 

Alexi raises both eyebrows. 

“The Howlers weren’t all bad,” Emily adds defensively. “They didn’t hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, and their leader, Paolo, he was a good friend of my fathers.”

“A gang member, you renegade, you,” Alexi teases. 

Rolling her eyes, Emily shoves her shoulder against hers, jostling Alexi. “Oh stop. Nothing ever came of it, but they were very handsome. Dark skin, black hair, Morlish. I turned into a total idiot, I could barely speak to them.” 

“That’s adorable,” Alexi declares. “I think I like the idea of you being a tongue-tied blushing mess.” 

“Then it’s a good that that it doesn’t happen that often,” Emily says, pulling a face. 

Alexi leans forward and presses her lips to Emily’s. “How about right now?” she murmurs. 

Heat floods Emily’s face. “Um,” she stammers. “I… Alexi?” 

“Not good?” Alexi asks, a flush of her own spreading across her nose and cheeks. “Shit, Emily, I’m so sorry.” She trips over her words, more apologies spilling out and Emily thinks she’s the prettiest woman she’s ever seen. 

“I don’t know,” Emily says over Alexi’s embarrassed panic. “Maybe you should do it again, just to be sure.”

Slowly Alexi smiles. “Gladly,” she says, and kisses her again.

*

“Thomas, I need to talk to you,” Emily says as soon the door closes behind them in the morning. “I have another meeting with Farley in about twenty minutes but, do you have the time?” 

Looking concerned, Thomas sits on the edge of her desk. “Sure, I’ve got plenty of time for you, Em. What’s wrong?”   
  


“ _ Alexikissedmelastnight _ .” 

There’s a few seconds worth of pause as Thomas obviously untangles that, before his eyes light up. “She  _ did _ ,” he says. “That seems fairly straightforward. What do you need me for?”

Glad he isn’t making a large issue over the information, Emily allows herself a single shrug. “What do you do when you don’t think you like men?” 

“Darling, I like everybody,” he notes dryly. “In all seriousness, it’s not a big deal. There are plenty of people who feel exactly as you do. Corvo and Daud, for example. Theodanis and the mine owner, Aramis Stilton. Billie and Delilah. It’s alright if you don’t like men.”

Emily waves that off. She’s not looking for a philosophical debate on the Strictures, she was the first to advocate for her father and Daud to find happiness in each other. “I know that,” she says, “It’s just that… Thom, I have to get married.”

“Ah, and you won’t be able to marry a woman.” He thinks, brow furrowed before saying slowly, “It’s possible you could marry someone who understands how you feel. Who is willing to be your friend rather than your paramour.”

Having reached the point of no return, Emily takes another deep breath and forces out, “I already told Farley I’d marry  _ him _ .”

The temperature of the room drops several degrees and Emily drags her gaze up to find that Thomas has gone unnaturally still and the coldness in his blue eyes reminds her that he spent several years as an assassin. “You, uh. You want to run that one by me again, princess?”

“Parliament wants me to have a legitimate spouse, and a stabilizing influence for the Empire,” Emily says. “There are few nobles who survived Delilah’s reign, and fewer still who would be suitable for me. Farley is a compromise - he’s as close to noble as one can get, and he’s been invaluable to me as a steadying presence.”

Thomas’ tone is wintery. “I see.”   
  


He clearly doesn’t.

“I know it’s not ideal, and I certainly have no romantic feelings for him, nor he for me. It will keep Parliament from forcing me to chose on short notice out of a pool of candidates that likely begin and end with Otto void-damned Peverly.”

“And when, exactly, did this decision occur?” Thomas inquires calmly, though Emily can see that his expression is still frozen.

“Last week.” She lifts her chin. “We’ve not said anything to Parliament yet, because it’s always wise to keep our cards close to the vest, and I’d rather keep a winning hand to myself.” Emily catches his gaze. “You taught me that.”

Thomas’ expression thaws. “I did,” he says slowly. “You’ve always been a fast learner. It takes people many years to learn how to apply those lessons correctly, myself included.”

Emily stiffens. “You think I’m making the wrong choice?” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I think you’ve thought it out carefully,” Thomas says. “There’s logic to your reasoning.”

That still doesn’t sound like he approves, and Emily’s chest aches with the thought of losing Thomas too. “But?”

“No buts,” he says, sounding almost light. “I’ll support your decision.” Emily relaxes, leaning her elbows on her desk in relief. “It…  _ was _ your decision?”

“Of course it was,” Emily snaps. She’d known that as Empress, she’d have to face a certain amount in lack of trust, but never expected it from her family.

Thomas’ expression gives nothing of his thoughts away as he looks at her steadily. “You’ve been doing very well at being an Empress, you’ve thought of all the angles, just like we taught you. I’m happy to see you using those lessons still.”

She narrows her eyes. “But…?”

He smiles at her, easy and relaxed. “No buts,” he repeats, a chuckle caught on the end of the words. “Let me worry about you, princess; it’s my job remember?”

“Farley has my best interests at heart, Thom,” Emily says. “He’s only trying to protect me, too.”

“As long as what you’re doing isn’t just what the  _ Empress _ wants, but also what  _ Emily  _ wants,” Thomas says, reaching out and tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. 

“Emily,” she sighs, “wants Parliament to get off her back.”

There’s a knock at her office door, and Thomas is across the room as though by magic, even as Emily knows that the Arcane Bond is gone. He pushes the door open at her nod and steps out of the way for Farley. There’s a weighted pause before Thomas bows respectfully to them both. “Empress, I’ll see you after your meetings,” he says. 

“Of course, Lord Protector.” She waits until he’s closed the door behind him before greeting Farley. “Good morning.”

“Emily,” he replies, and his expression is very grave. 

“What’s happened?” His serious face doesn’t abate and concern begins to fill her chest. “Farley?”

He sits at her desk and Emily mirrors him. “I’ve just spoken with Dane and Leon,” Farley says, and Emily wracks her brain for those names before placing them as Lords Ambrose and Peverly. “They have sons of marriageable age, and as I’m your accepted advisor, they reached out to me separately to gain my approval in a political match between you and one of their children.”

Otto Peverly is well known to her, she remembers his school yard bullying before the world ended and Delilah took over. Lord Ambrose’s son is harder for her to recall, she knew of him, but he was older than her and therefore not involved in her tutoring sessions. Neither of which were a preferable match for her, in any case.

“And what did you tell them?” 

“I merely stated I would bring the ideas to you, which I have done. I of course have no intention in recommending you take them up on their offers.”

Emily presses her lips together. “Why now? They were perfectly content to leave the matter alone before.”

Farley hesitates. “It's been three weeks, Emily,” he finally says. “It may be time to start preparing for the worst.” For one blessed second, Emily has no idea what he's talking about. “Lord Attano and Daud may have failed in their mission.”

“No,” she says, a sharp denial. “As far as Ambrose and Peverly are concerned, my father is in Tyvia. We will allow them to think that for as long as necessary.”

Farley opens his mouth and closes it, watching her carefully. “Emily, I believe they've begun to push because they think you… young, and easily manipulated.”

She scowls.

“They're seeing you as a girl, of course,” Farley continues with heavy scorn. “An easy catch to snare the Throne. Dane and Leon are fools, and they have no idea who you are.” 

“And who am I?” Emily asks, bitter and angry. Is anyone ever going to see her as anything more than a girl trying and failing to fill her mother's vacant, too-large shoes?

Farley leans forward and catches her gaze. “You are an intelligent, cunning woman who has done nothing but her best for her country, her Empire, and anyone who underestimates you will find themselves left behind. Your mother is lauded as Jessamine the Kind, but you, Emily - you will be known as the Clever. Dane and Leon would extinguish you. I would see you ignite.”

Emily can feel tears spring to her eyes. “Farley…” she murmurs. 

“You'll be the best Empress this world has ever seen, Emily,” Farley says, reaching across the desk to cover her shaking hands. “I will see to it.”

“You may tell Lords Ambrose and Peverly that my hand is already taken. By you.” Emily pulls away and reaches for her pen and ink. “Until my father's return, we will show them a united front.”

His smile widens. “Until your father’s return,” he agrees.

“Thank you, for being here, Farley,” she says earnestly. “It means more than I can say.”

*

“Can I keep my mask on?” Darnell asks, fingers twitching around the clasps. 

Emily reaches out with careful fingers and takes her hands. “We're sneaking out, D,” she says. “No one will know you're an Overseer.”

“I don't think this is a very good idea,” Darnell says, but she slips her mask off and leaves it in the chest with Emily's royal clothing. “Where are we going?”

“The Black Pony,” Emily says. “I won't make you go, if you don't want.”

Darnell’s dark eyes are filled with fear. “Empre-- Emily, I have  _ never _ gone anywhere without being masked.”

“We can just stay here,” Emily offers. 

Emily waits patiently for Darnell to choose, watching as she shifts awkwardly on her feet. Without the bulk of the Overseers raiments, Darnell is narrow across the shoulders though muscular. She fits Emily's vests better than Emily does.

“No, we can go,” she says. “But… it's best if you call me Daria. It's my true name.”

The way she says it makes Emily regard her carefully. “I might stick with D,” she says with forced lightness, glad when Darnell’s shoulders relax. “Alright, through the window.” 

“Wait,  _ what? _ ”

“We can hardly go through the front door,” Emily points out. “I've done this plenty of times.”

“But what about your Lord Protector?” Darnell asks, digging her heels in.

“Thomas is busy. Come  _ on, _  it's not far.” Emily pushes her window open, climbing through. She'd spent so much time on the roofs of Karanca, she feels surer of foot up high than when she's on ground level. 

Darnell follows her, fingers clenched tightly around Emily's, though once they're out on the roof, her nerves seem to evaporate. 

She darts across the shingles with Emily, keeping to the shadows and her wide smile a white slash in her face.

“Where to?” She asks, fingers cold where they grip Emily's wrist. 

“ _ Yes, Emily, where to _ ?”

They freeze.

Rinaldo steps out of the darkness by one of the chimneys, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m fair certain you’re not supposed to be out and about at this hour. You or your friend.” His eyes catch on Darnell but he doesn’t seem to recognize her. “I’m waiting, Emily.”

“We’re going to the Black Pony,” she says, sighing. Darnell hisses her name, her expression horrified. “He’s my brother, I’m not going to  _ lie _ to him.”

Rinaldo’s eyebrows raise. “And who are you going to meet there?” 

“Pip, Cedric and some of the Bottle Street men,” Emily answers. “Slackjaw’s boys wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, and you know that Pip…” Here she falters; despite Rulfio’s continued life, she knows that Rinaldo carries some measure of resentment for him, and their relationship has never been the same. “Well, Pip wouldn’t hurt me either.”

That makes him look away briefly and Emily feels a flash of sorrow for stirring up the unspoken regret in him. “I suppose,” he finally says, voice just a little rougher than normal, “that I should go with you then.”

“What?” Emily gasps. 

Rinaldo whistles once, a short, sharp sound and Thomas jumps down off a higher ledge to land a few feet in front of her. “Emily,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You make more noise than a herd of bloodox.”

“I do  _ not _ .” 

“Little bit,” Rinaldo says, pinching his fingers together a little in demonstration. “Come on then, might as well fit in a lesson as we go.” 

Darnell’s fingers tightened on her wrist. “Emily,” she hisses again. 

“Overseer Darnell, if we thought you were a danger, you’d know it,” Thomas says mildly. “You may as well join in the lesson, I don’t imagine Overseers have much use for stealth.”

“D,” she says, finally stepping away from Emily’s side. “You can call me D.”

Thomas smiles. “D, then. Come along, we have a few roofs to traverse before getting to the pub. First lesson is being light on your feet.”

It’s difficult, not being able to transverse. Emily had quickly grown used to the convenience of magic, dissolving into ash and reappearing across the gaps between the roof tops, and she still suffers from intense dismay whenever she looks down at her left hand to find herself without a mark. Now that she’s without the magic, keeping herself light of foot is just as difficult as it was when she was eleven.

It takes twice as long to get to the Black Pony, but once they do, her friends and family have already gathered on the roof, tables and chairs set up like the inside of the bar. Pip waves to her as soon as they appear over the edge, and that gets everyone else’s attention. 

Burton is there, and Cedric of course, who had chosen to go with him to the Orphanage outside of the Civil Services District. With them is Slackjaw, the one who had invited her out, and Mr. Beechworth too. Whale oil lanterns and candles light up the area with a soft glow and drinks are being passed around and poured. 

“Miss Emily,” Slackjaw calls. “Slackjaw is glad to see you, he certainly is. Come and have a drink!”

*


	8. 8. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the Void, Corvo's magic is tireless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my beloved Dani, Lex, Sera and Sasha. 
> 
> Extra special thank you to Es, who helps make my writing better. ILU.
> 
> We... have reached the halfway mark. :) Good luck.
> 
> You can find me at [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/) for all your needs. In a month, I'll have been posting Omen-verse for a year, and I'm hosting a prompt challenge on my tumblr for it. Feel free to drop by and leave an ask with a drabble prompt for the series. Rules are posted on my tumblr! I love you all, thank you for making this such an amazing experience.

In the Void, Corvo’s magic is tireless.    
  
They flit from platform to platform, pausing only when Daud needs the break or when a memory snaps them up. Daud is getting used to the broken pieces of the Void trying to fit around them now, tensing only when he finds stone at his back when it hadn’t been there a moment before.    
  
The room is the same as the one before it, with a boy in a cage and no one behaving as though it’s a travesty of untold horrors.    
  
This time the room is full of people, most of them old, with long greying beards and robed from head to toe. Each of them surrounding the boy - the Outsider - and each of them brandishing a dagger with a blade of obsidian.    
  
“Do you think... if I killed them, the memory would change?” Corvo murmurs.    
  
“No,” Daud answers. “I don't think we can do much of anything at all, here.” He reaches out for Corvo's hand, but Corvo's already moved away from him, closer to the Outsider.    
  
Jessamine follows at his side, floating just above the ground. “It is not wise to spend much time within these places.”   
  
Corvo nods, though he makes no move to exit the room and the memory. “I know,” he says, and reaches out to touch the Outsider.    
  
“Corvo...” Jessamine sighs, sounding as pained as Daud feels at the sight.   
  
Corvo's fingers move through the Outsider's hair, but doesn't disturb the strands. “It's like touching mist,” he murmurs.    
  
Interacting with the memory causes it to animate, the men moving around the Outsider in a slow circle, blades dripping with some sort of viscous liquid. They chant in that unknown language, while the Outsider curls into a ball, and closes his eyes, shying away from them.   
  
“What are they doing to him?” Corvo demands.   
  
“Preparing,” Jessamine says. “The Outsider was once a boy, human like you. The cultists sought a way to stabilize magic, and so they chose him for a foci, to control the Void through him.” She smiles. “It didn't work.”   
  
Daud's eyes narrow. “Why would you know that?”    
  
Jessamine's shoulders stiffen but she doesn't face him. “I have spent much of the last year here, and before that, I was allowed to tap into the Void at will. There is little that has been hidden from me.”   
  
Corvo stands up, stepping through one of the cultists and pausing the eerie chanting. The hair on the back of Daud's neck stands up, as the Outsider's memory freezes, men's mouths half open in halted speech.   
  
That's when he sees it. The movement is so slight that if he hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed it entirely. The boy who was the Outsider darts a look away from his frozen captors, and gazes directly at him.   
  
“Corvo,” Daud says sharply.    
  
To his credit, Corvo notices immediately, the way those bottomless blue eyes are fixed on Daud. “Outsider,” he breathes.    
  
The boy's expression doesn't clear, nor does he uncurl from his protective position, but he does meet Corvo's eyes. His thin brows furrow over his face. When he speaks, the same melodic, guttural language flows from him, his voice lilting up in a clear question.    
  
There are few context clues, but Daud imagines he's asking how they got here, or perhaps where - or who - they are. Corvo's fingers curl around the cage, and Daud can see the flinch in his shoulders when the Outsider shies away from him. “We're here for you,” Corvo says.    
  
The Outsider frowns. He says something else, his tone urgent, before the memory unlocks, and whatever autonomy he'd gained vanishes. Daud watches  sick at heart, as the blue eyes go vague and empty, unseeing.    
  
Corvo swears quickly and climbs back to his feet. “Was it him?”   
  
Daud shakes his head. “I don't know.”   
  
“In part,” Jessamine answers, though her answer is hesitantly spoken. “The Outsider has long belonged to the Void for millennia. Even when he's diminished, he's still here.”   
  
Holding out his hand for Daud, Corvo steps through the door and out into the cold wind of the Void. The edges of the great expanse are dark, far darker than when they'd arrived only hours before, and the wind cuts like ice through his coat.   
  
When he takes Corvo's hand in his, their fingers are nearly frozen with the cold, numb and tingling where they touch.    
  
“It seems we're moving back in time,” Corvo comments, gesturing behind them where the room and memory have vanished. “Each one we find is further into his memories.”   
  
Jessamine nods. “Though time is meaningless here, this place is the end of all things, and the beginning. ”   
  
Thinking of his spinning timepiece, Daud privately agrees. “The memories do seem to follow a linear progression.”    
  
“That means we're drawing closer, doesn't it?”    
  
Jessamine flickers in the wind and vanishes, reappearing as a bright light on a different platform. “We should follow her,” Daud prompts, and Corvo's hand tightens around his.   
  
It takes several more transversals to get to Jessamine's position, and Daud grunts when they slam to a stop in a broken, floating, rose garden. After Delilah, and spending so much time clearing away roses and other viciously sharp flowers, he's rather sick of seeing them.    
  
This place, at least, doesn't seem to be a memory. Simply another place where the world is too thin and the Void leaks through. “Take a moment,” Jessamine offers. “You've been moving for hours.”   
  
Corvo shakes his head. “Here, I'm at full strength.”   
  
She gives him a dry look. “You haven't eaten in those hours either.”   
  
They'd shared bread not long ago, but Daud has no earthly idea how long they spend trapped in each memory, how many hours pass between each break. It could be minutes, or hours or years - though the idea that they could be trapped in the Void for years makes him sick to his stomach.   
  
“It's not been hours, has it?” Corvo asks, frowning. “I'm not hungry.”   
  
“You wouldn't be,” she says. “Eat something anyway, my love. Please.”   
  
In a rare moment of synchronicity, Daud agrees with Jessamine. He's not particularly hungry himself, but he opens the bag of their supplies to pass Corvo some fresh fruit and another hunk of bread.    
  
Daud takes his own piece of fruit, eating it in quick neat bites. He turns away from where Jessamine hovers over Corvo, unable to gaze at the love in her face as she watches him. 

It's one thing to know that he took that away from Corvo. It's quite another to see it firsthand.    
  
“Jess,” Corvo murmurs, and Daud walks to the edge of the platform. “I...”    
  
“I know,” she says, though Corvo only trails off. “Don't despair. I am here, with you, for just a little while longer.”   
  


His smile is sad when he looks back up at her. “But only for a little while.”

She reaches out, her fingers brushing the air by his cheek, trailing down to cup his neck. Had she been wholly corporeal, her fingers would have threaded through the thick knot of his hair. “Is this not enough, for now?” 

“It must be,” Corvo answers. His head bows, and Daud can see the places where Jessamine’s fingers sink awfully into the back of his head. 

“You have another in your heart now,” Jessamine says, and both Daud and Corvo’s gazes jerk to her. Daud’s throat tightens on his protest but Corvo has no such trouble.

He stands, and it forces her to move her hand before it drags through his torso. “We have already had this conversation,” he says. “Daud is not up for discussion, least of all when he’s standing six feet away and can hear.”

“Thanks,” Daud says mildly, tearing his eyes from Jessamine to give Corvo a dry look. “So it’s alright if I’m out of hearing range?”

A dull flush stands out over Corvo’s face. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” he says, and steps closer. “Anything that you have to say can be said in front of me, Empress.” He manages a low bow, though his chest is tight again when he straightens.

The expression on her face is complicated and Jessamine turns away. “We have farther to go,” she says. “Let us depart.”

She steps off the ledge and reappears, a blue beam of light, several platforms away. “That could have gone better,” Corvo murmurs. 

Daud doesn’t dignify that with a reply. Corvo’s endless optimism is one of the things he cares for the most about him, but Daud privately believes that it won’t ever matter how many years pass, Jessamine will never see him as anything more than what he is. Even if Corvo has managed, somehow, the dead don’t forgive.

Corvo is more hesitant to take Daud’s arm, but Daud can’t really blame him. A new series of dizzying transversals leaves him breathless, leaning heavily on Corvo’s side, as they stumble to a stop. “Sorry,” Daud grunts, straightening up and taking his weight off Corvo’s shoulder. 

“Stop apologizing,” Corvo says, a small smile on his face. “I’ve never been subject to an assisted Blink but I can’t imagine I’d enjoy the process very much.”

Daud rubs his face with one hand, trying to quell the nausea. “It’s not that bad,” he finally mutters. “Just different. Too chaotic, out of control.”

“I  _ definitely _ wouldn’t enjoy  _ that _ .”

Peering at him from behind his hand, Daud lifts an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” 

A dull flush races across Corvo’s face. “ _ Daud _ . I can’t believe you just said that.”

When Daud looks over to where Jessamine stands, even she is eyeing Corvo skeptically and that - that’s not something he ever thought he’d have in common with the late Empress. 

They step headlong into another memory before Daud can reply and he stops short when he recognizes the scene around him. The men dressed in robes are all standing before a large stone altar where the Outsider is tied. The boy he was is dressed in colorful robes of his own, and he’s strangely calm, not struggling much at all, despite the vulnerable position.

Corvo though, his face drains of blood and he drops Daud’s hand to transverse across the memory, climbing over the altar to sit by the Outsider’s side. He makes an aborted motion, like he’d gone to take the Outsider’s hand. 

The Outsider - like in the last memory - turns his gaze to Corvo, looking surprised. “It’s going to be alright,” he murmurs. Daud can’t hear him, but he can read his lips from the distance he’s at. 

Jessamine frowns, watching Corvo comfort the Outsider. Daud steps away from her and joins Corvo at the Outsider’s side, just in time for the memory to unlock. The men are chanting, their voices rising in an ear-splitting cacophony. 

One of them breaks from the mass of the others, a long dagger held in his fist. Daud realizes with a start exactly what he’s about to witness. 

The Outsider realizes it at the same moment, and he begins struggling in his bonds just as the knife splits his throat neatly, spilling red blood everywhere.

The chanting ends abruptly, the memory suddenly completely silent. 

Corvo looks away from the blood still pumping out of the Outsider. “Is it over?” he wonders, his voice a little thick.

Daud opens his mouth to answer, but finds his voice stolen as the screaming starts.

It sweeps across the memory and the Void alike, an infernal howl that raises gooseflesh on his arms and the back of his neck. A darkness descends on the memory, and it’s  _ Leviathan _ \- bearing down on the man with the knife that took the Outsider’s life. 

Leviathan, smaller than he remembers, swallows the men in robes, and when the darkness fades, they stand as stone, carefully in formation, frozen forever.

Then, like dripping oil, Leviathan fades away, leaving a shaken Outsider standing in the center of the statues. 

He turns around to look at the altar, not quite seeing Corvo or Daud, instead looking at the corpse of himself. Slowly, his fathomless blue eyes fill with black, lid to lid, losing all definition and leaving him the Outsider Daud remembers.

Only then does he turn and look at Corvo. When he speaks, he’s clearly asking another question but they’re four thousand years too late for understanding the language. Instead, Corvo summons up a smile from somewhere though it pulls tight the corner of his eyes. “You’ll see me again,” he promises. 

The Outsider reaches out, going for Corvo’s left hand, but the moment they touch, the memory collapses into dust, leaving Corvo grasping at nothing.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Daud wonders, steadying Corvo as the altar he’s sitting on dissolves as well. 

“I knew some of it.” Corvo looks over the statues as they blow away on the wind. “He told me once in Karnaca that they cut his throat, the blood ran out and he became a god. It did show me one thing, though.”

“What’s that?” 

Corvo made a vague gesture. “We just watched Leviathan turn into the Outsider. If it happened once… it can happen again.”

There’s hope in Corvo’s face when he turns back to Jessamine. She smiles at him before disappearing, moving on to the next closest platform, and this time when Corvo reaches for Daud, he laces their fingers together. 

It doesn’t make the next five transversals any easier, but Daud appreciates the gesture. 

Almost immediately, they find themselves in a new memory, stepping off a platform filled with dead whales and transversing straight into a shack by the sea. 

There’s a woman inside, her hand branded black with the Outsider’s Mark and surrounded by vials, herbs and poultices. The Outsider floats there, half reclining on a small table, his hand outstretched toward her.

As soon as they appear though, the Outsider looks at them, moving slowly, almost lazy. “Hn,” he murmurs. “Where have I seen you two before?”

His Gristolian is lightly accented, rounding out the vowels and blurring the hard consonant sounds. 

It’s a good question; and it brings up things that Daud would rather not think about. Are they changing the Outsider’s memories, by interacting with them instead of watching? Could this be re-writing the course of his lifetime without stepping foot in the past? It doesn’t bear thinking about, because if that’s true, if that’s what they’re doing… then Daud signed his own contract with the Outsider long before he’d gotten the Mark. 

Corvo and Daud exchange a look. 

“We… have been following your memories through the Void,” Corvo finally says. 

“My memories?” The Outsider looks intrigued. “And who are you, so close to me to live in my memories?”

“Years from now, you'll Mark us,” Corvo says. “Him, first. Me, later.”

The Outsider turns to face them. “Will I? You must be  _ very  _ interesting.”

A flash of hurt flickers through Corvo’s expression. “We will be,” Daud answers, rough and tired. If he just gave his future up to the Outsider, then so be it.   
  


The Outsider regards them with cool appraisal. “And you are?” he asks, though he's clearly only humoring them.   
  
Daud has had nearly thirty years of exposure to the Outsider's particular brand of nonsense though. He shrugs, imitating non-concern. “Telling you would defeat the purpose, I think,” he drawls with a studied nonchalance. “You'll figure it out someday.”   
  
Corvo glances at him, the hurt on his face swallowed up by something impressed. “I suppose you have the same answer?” the Outsider asks him dryly.    
  
“You'll know my name some day.” He tilts his head slightly, as though conceding a point. “Just not this one.”   
  
“I see you're determined to pique my interest,” the Outsider says, and the Void flickers around him as he disappears only to reappear standing in front of Corvo; too close, nearly touching him.    
  
It makes Corvo take a large step back, knocking into the wall behind him. “If you touch me, you'll get sucked back into the memory,” he warns. “Or disappear entirely.”   
  
“Mm,” the Outsider agrees, “if this is a memory, then I will have gained or lost nothing for that.” His hand darts out and grabs Daud's left hand where it hangs at his side. The Void starts swallowing the memory nearly immediately, dissolving the room around them, even as the Outsider's eyes widen. “Where is it?” he demands.   
  
“Stolen.”   
  
The word is still echoing through the Void when the memory and the Outsider disappear.   
  
Corvo's shoulders slump. “Do you think,” he wonders out loud, “that we're changing the course of our past?”    
  
“I wondered the same thing.” If the Outsider somehow remembers these interactions, if the past is playing out for them in real time, then he would have seen Corvo and himself long before either of them were born. “No,” he finally decides. “If that was the case, the Outsider would have been aware of our stolen Marks, and prepared for Delilah better.”   
  
The Void rumbles, a quake going through the platform they're standing on, and the horizon line, nearly invisible in the flat, slate grey of the Void, darkens further.    
  
“Perhaps it is best you don't mention her name,” Jessamine says, stepping between them. Desiring not to intersect her body with his shoulder, Daud is forced to step back, and for a briefly uncharitable moment, he wonders if she did it on purpose.    
  
Corvo turns to face her, and the small measure of anger there warms Daud from the inside. “About... her,” Corvo says, conceding to keeping Delilah's name out of the Void. “You told me as the Crow, that she was your half-sister. But... why did you never tell me when you were alive, and things were well?”   
  
Jessamine looks away, staring out over the nothing surrounding them. “Because by the time I was old enough to do anything about her fate, she had already disappeared. I was a child when she was ousted from the Tower, a child who didn't understand why her playmate, her secret-sister, had gone away forever.”   
  
“She told me that it-” Corvo cuts himself off.   
  
“That it was because of me?” Jessamine finishes, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “It was. I broke a vase, some ceremonial piece that my father likely didn't care about, but the Spymaster of the time, Alric Templeton... He was a vile man, and I was petrified of him.”   
  
“So you lied,” Corvo murmurs.   
  
“Yes.” Jessamine turns around, a sad smile on her face. “De- She was gone the next day, and no matter how many times I asked, Father would never tell me where she was, or what had happened to her.”   
  
Corvo reaches out to touch her, fingers disappearing into the blue light of her body. “But you never told me.”   
  
Jessamine looks over them both, devoid of judgement even when she meets Daud's eyes. “We all have things we regret, my love,” she answers. “She was always mine.”   
  
Before Corvo can say anything more, Jessamine gestures to a platform as it floats by. She flickers onto it, waiting for Corvo and Daud to catch up.    
  
“Once more into the Void,” Corvo drawls, stepping up to the edge of rocks they stand on, holding out his hand for Daud. “Ready?”   
  
Daud nods, and then the platform crumbles, cleaving in half, wrenching him away from Corvo.    
  
“Corvo!” he shouts, clinging to the side of his platform as it tilts dangerously sideways.   
  
With a violent oath, Corvo's left fist clenches, and ash swirls around him, only for it to disappear with a crackle of sour magic.   
  
Corvo's eyes get very wide even as they drain of silver, leaving them a horrified amber. He pales, swaying, as his magic fails him, and Daud scrambles up the tilting rock to leap onto the one Corvo still stands on. It's a struggle, but he drags himself onto the edge, just in time for Corvo to drop to his knees. “Daud?” he says faintly, black crawling over his skin, filling his veins.   
  
Many millions of eyes open in the dark, and Leviathan's giant maw smiles.  **FOUND YOU** .   
  
Hands reach out of the darkness in a mockery of his memories and Corvo is snatched away, Daud’s hands inches from touch. 

“ _ Corvo _ !”

  
Corvo disappears, consumed into the dark roiling mass of eyes and teeth, and then Leviathan is gone, melting into the black ooze that makes up the ocean at the bottom of the Void.    
  
Daud is alone.


	9. 9. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t say it,” Emily mutters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my beloved Dani, who as usually feeds my pain fire, and requires more tissues to add to Mount Suffering. Lex, Sasha, Sera, Aeniala, and Taywen you lot have been with me since the beginning, and I appreciate you all so much. Daurange, for the editing and cheerleading and for also feeding my pain-fire. And especially, Eldi, who draws me art and screams at me at four in the morning. <3 I love you all so much.
> 
> Thank you everyone, old and new, for the asks, the messages, the comments. It makes me write faster, and it makes my day. This one is for you.
> 
> As ever, you can find me at [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/), for all your needs. I follow back and enjoy conversation :)
> 
> :D Good luck.

“Is there any other business you’d like to attend to, before we close this session?” Emily asks, keeping her hands  clenched on her papers. Thomas stands a respectable distance behind her, Havelock at her side, but the Lords of Parliament still make her nervous.

Lord Ambrose nods once. “There is one other thing, Empress,” he says, and his tone sets Emily’s teeth on edge. “We need to discuss your contribution to the Empire.”

“My contribution,” Emily says, flat. “Please explain.”

“Of course  _ we  _ all believe that despite the rumors of your supposed death, you have returned to us… But there have been whispers that you’re not who you say you are.” 

Emily can feel her expression turn steely. “Lord Ambrose, the former Spymaster Hiram Burrows all but admitted that he was the one who brought the plague and had my mother murdered. Are you suggesting you would have accepted myself as Empress at ten years old any better than you seem to be accepting me now, despite being closer to my majority?” 

Ambrose shakes his head. “Of course not, Empress. You’ve been nothing but accommodating and caring for your people. Your parentage is not in question by this council.”

“But it  _ is _ apparently in question.” 

“Empress, may I be frank?” Ambrose asks, mirroring her position at the table.

Emily lifts an eyebrow. “Can I stop you?” 

A dull flush colors Ambrose’s cheeks. “Empress, we accepted your mother’s insistence that you remain her heir despite her… lack of a marriage. However, both the nobles and the common people will not accept another child born out of wedlock.” Here, Ambrose’s eyes dart to Thomas, and despite the feet between them, she can feel the way he tenses behind her.

“As I have not yet reached my majority, I don’t believe children quite factor into the acceptable plan for me,” Emily says, staring him down. 

Peverly clears his throat. “Accidents happen, Empress.”

Emily can’t do much more than gape at him. Havelock clears his throat sharply, standing to loom over the table. “That is quite enough of that,” he says, one hand slicing through the air to punctuate his sentence. “Leon, you go too far.”

“I am simply saying,” Peverly says, dogged and clearly unintimidated by Havelock’s size, “that there is  _ precedent _ for our concerns.”

“Are you suggesting my birth was an  _ accident _ ?” Emily demands. 

Seeming to realize that he’d well and truly angered her, Peverly shakes his head rapidly. “Of course not, Empress, of course not! I’m only saying… that for your people - our people - once you reach marriageable age, you may wish to reassure them that you are not your mother.”

Emily narrows her eyes. “And  _ what exactly _ was wrong with my mother?” 

“You were too young to realize it,” Ambrose cuts in, saving a floundering Peverly. “But there was quite a bit of push back when Jessamine refused to name your father, and refused to marry a noble close to her station. She was well loved and that was why you were accepted when you were born, however, in this time of upheaval, I doubt the public will be so willing to accept another fatherless Emperor or Empress.”

“I do have a son who is close in age to you, Empress,” Peverly says, recovering his equilibrium. 

She glances at Havelock who nods. “As it happens,” Emily says slowly, trying to let her burning anger go, “I have no intention of following in my mother’s footsteps. I will be turning seventeen in two weeks, and though I’m above the age of consent, I am not quite of marriageable age. However, on my birthday, I shall announce to Dunwall that I have secured an engagement.”

“What?” Peverly says, sharp and shocked. 

“Despite all appearances, I do listen, Lord Peverly,” Emily says severely. “We will have a year long engagement, and set the wedding for the days after my eighteenth birthday.” 

Ambrose clears his throat. “And who exactly is your lucky suitor?” he asks.

Emily tips her head toward Havelock. “Farley Havelock,” she answers evenly.

There’s a long pause as the council digests this. Several of the Lords nod approvingly; though she notices the disappointed anger on Peverly and Ambrose’s faces. The only one who seems displeased by the news is Esma Boyle. 

“Are you… certain?” Ambrose asks, a palpable hesitance in his tone.

Emily exhales slowly through her nose, trying to keep her temper. “Farley Havelock has been an invaluable part of this Parliament, and was equally invaluable to the Resistance movement against the false Empress Delilah. He has more than earned his title of Lord, and he is a known figure from my mother’s time. You wished for a steadying presence in this time of strife, Lords and Lady of the council; here you have him.”

“Now, if that’s all?” Havelock prompts, and slowly the council ends, allowing Emily to relax back against her seat. As soon as Ambrose and Peverly have left the room, Esma Boyle stands up and makes her way around the table. 

“Lady Boyle?” Emily asks in confusion.

Esma bows. “Empress, might I have a word with you? In private?” 

Havelock clears his throat. “The Empress is quite busy, Lady Boyle.”

Emily smiles at him. “No, it’s alright. Let’s adjourn to my office, and we can speak there. Farley, I’ll see you later, of course?”

He takes her hand, bowing over it. “Of course, Emily.” He nods at both Lady Boyle and Thomas where he lingers. “Lord Protector, Lady Boyle.”

Once he follows the rest of Parliament out of the room, Emily stands and leads Esma out of the council chambers and toward her office. “If this is about the bank agreements, I regret to say I haven’t been able to read your newest draft,” Emily says apologetically. 

“Considering how many drafts I’ve sent you, I can’t be surprised,” Esma says with refreshing humor. “No, this is a personal matter.”

Thomas opens the door to Emily’s office, and steps in first before pushing the door further open for Emily to enter. “Shall I wait outside?” he asks, glancing first at Emily then at Esma. 

“This involves you too, Lord Protector, you may stay,” Esma says, sitting in the chair in front of Emily’s desk. 

Emily braces herself for more rumors about Thomas, and takes her seat behind the desk. “What seems to be the problem, Lady Boyle?”

“Put frankly, you’re a woman in a man’s game.” 

Emily blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Your mother had to face many of the same challenges, but she had a healthy city behind her for the first years of her reign . T ake it from me, Empress,” Esma says seriously, “those men out there will attempt to walk all over you, belittle you, make you doubt yourself. Most of them aren’t even malicious; Ambrose is an  idiot and a fool , but he’s a well intentioned one.”

Thomas clears his throat. “What’s your point, Lady Boyle?”

Esma grimaces. “My sisters and I had to fight for every ounce of respect, and none of us were happy for the choices we made or the corners we cut. Waverly…” Here, her voice cuts out, and she’s silent for the span of seconds before continuing. “Waverly allied herself with the wrong sort to gain power, and it hurt her deeply.” 

“You’ve done great things for us,” Emily says, frowning.

“I’m glad you think so, Empress. But for each reform I give your Parliament, they ask me when Ichabod is returning to Dunwall.”

Emily sighs. “I see.”

“I don’t believe you do,” Esma says, her voice soft. “Do not marry Farley Havelock.”

“I assume you have a reason for saying that,” Emily says, scowling.

Esma nods. “ If you marry him, he will eventually expect you to do your wifely - and political - duties for him. You will be forced to spread your legs for an old man and your Empire and you will never have a choice in that.”

“Farley would never force me!”

The look Esma gives her is pitying. “I’m sure he’s told you that,” she says, and reaches across the desk to pat her hand. “He may not  _ use _ force, Empress, but that doesn’t mean you have a choice.”

Angry tears spring to Emily’s eyes. “Why are you saying this?” she demands.

“You met my daughter,” Esma says. “I followed your mother’s example and fell in love with a common man, who gave me a beautiful child and now that Plague has taken him, no man will marry me. I’m not suggesting you attempt to push the people again, but I’m suggesting that when you marry, you do it because  _ you _ wish to, and not because a  group of old, conceited fools are telling you to do so.”

Thomas snorts. “Lady Boyle,” he chides her.

“Sometimes you have to make an impression,” Esma says, smiling at him. “Emily, please think very carefully about this decision. I’ve been playing this game for years, and I don’t like the way Farley Havelock looks at you.”

Slowly Emily nods. “Very well. I’ll give your words due consideration. Thank you for your candor.”

“Feel free to reach out to me, any time, Empress,” Esma says, bowing once. “Thank you for your time.”

Once the door has closed behind her, Thomas takes a deep breath. 

“Don’t say it,” Emily mutters.

“I would  _ never _ ,” Thomas says, and jostles her shoulder. “What sort of  Lord Protector would I be if I said  _ I told you so _ .”

Emily shoves him back. “I wouldn’t know, you’re clearly no sort of  Lord Protector since  _ you still said it _ .”

Thomas grins. “I’m older, I’m allowed.”

“Prick.”

“ _ Language _ .”

*

When the knock on her door comes, Emily leaps off her bed to answer it. She isn’t expecting Havelock on the other side, and she can tell by his face that she doesn’t hide her disappointment well. 

“Farley,” she greets, leaning on her half open door. “Is everything alright?”

He hesitates, only for a moment before sighing, “I’d hoped to speak to you. Off the record.”

“I should get Thomas, or Callista,” Emily says. “It’s inappropriate for you to be in my rooms so late in the evening.”

Havelock smiles. “We’re to be engaged, Emily. It certainly wouldn’t be inappropriate for us to share space before then. But, if you’re nervous, we of course can get your tutor.”

Slowly she opens the door wider. “Come in, Farley,” she offers. “Have a seat.”

He follows her into the room and sits in the chair by the fireplace. She curls up in the one across from him, feeding another log to the fire. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Of course. What’s wrong?” She pulls her knees to her chest, leaning her cheek on them. 

“I don’t wish to add to your concerns,” Farley says. “But I couldn’t let this rest without speaking to you about it first.” Emily looks at him expectantly and Havelock hesitates for a long minute. 

“Farley?” she prompts.

“I suppose it wasn’t that important. I apologize for disturbing you,” Havelock says, standing.

Emily frowns, standing as well. “Farley, you can tell me anything. Please, have a seat.”

He sits again, after another long moment. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Emily?”

Her frown deepens. “Tell you? About what?”

“About… something you may be keeping from me. Something personal.”

“No?” Emily says, bewildered. “You already know pretty much everything about my life.”

He sighs. “I’m disappointed, Emily,” he says, his mouth turned down at the corners. Emily feels alarm spike in her chest. “I thought we’d agreed never to lie to each other.”

“Lying? I’m not - I haven’t -” she blurts out, mind racing to recall what it is that she’s hidden from him to earn his disappointment. Panic tightens her throat, making it harder to breathe. “Lied about  _ what _ ? I haven’t -”

“Emily…”

“I’m not lying to you!”

Farley turns to her, the slight downturn to his lips morphing into a full-fledged frown. “You withheld from me your liaison with Lieutenant Mayhew.”

Emily feels sick. Was that something she should have told him? She didn’t realise it would make him upset. She hadn’t even thought of him at all. Does he think of it as a betrayal? “Oh,” she breathes out, scrambling around for the words to take away his disappointment. “I - I’m  _ sorry _ , Farley. I didn’t think you’d - that is, I didn’t realise that you would -” 

“Our arrangement only works if we are honest with each other, Empress,” Havelock interrupts, tone sharp. He looks away from her into the fire.

“I didn’t know it was something you wanted to hear,” Emily says, miserably.

“I’m not upset that you had a fling, Emily. I’m disappointed you did not trust me enough to confide in me. If you find you cannot give me honesty, then I won’t be able to help you.”

The spark of alarm ignites into an inferno. She lurches forward to grab Havelock’s hand, squeezing desperately. “No!” she gasps. “No, I just, I'm  _ sorry _ , it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to - I wanted to tell you!”

“And yet you didn’t, Emily,” Havelock sighs, sounding so weary it makes her chest ache. “You deliberately kept it from me, and we can't make this work if you do that.”

Havelock pulls his hand out of her grasp, and Emily’s heart stops.

“I was embarrassed,” she whispers.

“ _ Emily _ ,” Havelock says, and it's layered in so much disappointment that she shrinks back from him.

“Farley, I'm  _ sorry.” _

“I want to be able to trust you,” Havelock says. “But I can’t, can I?”

“You can!” she insists. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Havelock pinches the bridge of his nose, looking tired and as wretched as she’s feeling. She’s done this to him - made him feel like she doesn’t value his presence, made him feel like she’s untrustworthy. She’ll do anything to get rid of the guilt coiled and curdling in her gut.

Emily swallows. “Please,” she whispers. “How - how can I fix this?”

A palpable pause fills the space between them. She feels shaken, shivery, on the verge of tears as she twists her hands together to quell her trembling.

“I suppose,” Havelock finally says, slowly.

“Yes?” she whispers.

“I suppose… if you were to begin rebuilding the trust between us, you would have to… end your relationship with Lieutenant Mayhew.”

She finds herself nodding rapidly. “Yes, of course,” she says in a breathless rush, a surge of relief washing over her and easing the clench in her gut. “Alexi will understand. She knows how important my role is.”

“And how tenuous,” Havelock reminds her. “You must do this as soon as possible, Emily. I  _ want _ this to be an equal partnership.”

“I will. I swear. You can trust me, Farley.”

“I hope so, Emily. I’d very much like to.” He finally reaches out to touch her hand, offering her the smallest of smiles. “Lieutenant Mayhew is a talented officer. Perhaps Captain Curnow will take her under his wing.”

“Alright,” Emily says, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “Farley -” she says, when he stands to leave. “Are you… are we…”

She just wants him to say he forgives her. Or give her some sign that he’s not angry at her anymore, or that he’s not disappointed.

The look he gives her is almost sad. “We’ll speak again after you’ve done the right thing for both of us, Emily.”

When he leaves, she slumps down into her chair, still shaking, cold, and feeling sick. The temporary relief was gone again, leaving only a weight of unease deep in her chest. She knows what she needs to do to get rid of this guilt and earn Havelock’s forgiveness: she’ll tell Alexi the next time she sees her that they can’t… pursue anything.

Thinking about it makes her feel even worse.

But she can't mourn for this. Her… inappropriate affection for Alexi was what got her into this mess in the first place. Alexi will understand, she has to.

Anything, for the Empire. 

*

The first thing Emily does is seek out Geoff Curnow. She composes a short speech to convince him to take Alexi on as his captain-in-training, and after about ten minutes, Curnow’s chuckles interrupt her.

“You feel strongly about Mayhew?” he asks, grinning and Emily nods. “I’ve noticed her in the training yard. Alright, Empress. I’ll take her off Tower rotation and begin training her.  Perhaps one day to succeed me .” 

Emily feels a swell of relief blanket some of the ever-present guilt in her chest. “Thank you, Captain Curnow. Lieutenant Mayhew won’t disappoint you.”

As soon as she steps back out of the Captain’s office though, Thomas slides up to her, a concerned look plain across his face. “Em, what are you  _ doing _ ?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“Alexi deserves this,” Emily says, neatly side stepping his real question. “I would hate for her to be stuck in the Tower rotation when her true skills deserve to be recognized.”

Thomas frowns. “If you do this, she’ll leave.”

Emily swallows hard. “I know. It’s better for her this way.”

There’s a long pause where Thomas gazes at her without speaking. There’s a tightness in his jaw that tells her he’s angry with something - her, or the situation - before he finally says, “If that’s what you think is best, Empress.”

She can’t tell him about hurting Havelock; Thomas isn’t  _ open _ about his dislike of the other man, but she knows that he won’t  _ care _ that she did it. He might even approve, and Emily can only handle so much guilt.

“Alexi deserves the promotion,” she says, soft. “Regardless of my feelings for her, she should be allowed the opportunity.”

Thomas lets it go, falling into step behind her. Emily dreads telling Alexi that they can’t be together, and the guilt and anxiety eats at her for the rest of her day. It’s a good thing the council isn’t scheduled; she’d likely have made a mess of the whole thing if she’d been forced to deal with Peverly. Ambrose and the rest.

Emily spends the rest of her day agonizing, for nothing, as once dinner is over, Alexi bursts into her office. 

Both Emily and Thomas startle, reaching for blades but Alexi flies into Emily’s arms, embracing her before she can draw steel. “ _ Thank you! _ Emily, thank you!”

“Um?” Emily murmurs, stiffening by degrees.

Alexi pulls away, but keeps her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Captain Curnow told me what you said! He’s making me his Under-Captain, for now. I’ll be training under him specifically!” 

“You deserve it,” Emily says, “You ran the Resistance against Delilah practically by yourself. You’ll do so well, Alexi.” 

Alexi just embraces her again, a quick grab that Emily craves more than she knows how to deal with. “I have to go pack, but, I needed to say thank you first.” For a second, she looks like she’s about to kiss Emily again, but the shadow of desire is gone a moment later as Thomas moves in his corner. “Seriously, Emily.  _ Thank you _ .”

“You’re welcome,” Emily whispers, as Alexi disappears back out the door, letting it slam closed behind her. 

Thomas gives her a moment to compose herself, before saying, “Was it worth it?”

Tears well up in her eyes. “It has to be,” she says. 

He brushes the backs of his fingers against her shoulder. “Courage, Emily,” Thomas murmurs. 

Emily honestly can’t imagine the day getting any worse. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Courage.”

She just wants to sleep, but when she crosses the hall toward the elevator to get to her rooms, the sounds of gunshots in the Main Hall make her freeze. Thomas is there instantly, blocking her from the balcony. 

There are no more gunshots, but Emily can hear the faint strains of shouting. Together, she and Thomas look over the ledge of the balcony to see, though Thomas’ arm blocks Emily from going too far. 

“Is that Khulan?” she asks, sharp and worried, as Khluan drags an masked Overseer to his knees in front of a small contingent of his people. “What’s happening?”

Thomas shakes his head. “Emily, you have to stay out of this.”

“Why?” she asks, as the Overseer on his knees has his masked removed for all to see. She gasps, taking a step back. 

“Just  _ what _ ,” Khluan booms, “ _ do you have to say for yourself _ !?” 

Daria.

*


	10. 10. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Daud can't breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, this is for my beloved Dani. Also for Eldi, who makes me amazing art, and for all the people who read and comment and follow me on tumblr. You're all the best and your support, dedication and unending optimism give me life. Thank you.
> 
> Specially thank you to Estora, who makes me better in every way. 
> 
> You can follow me on [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/), for all your needs. 
> 
> (The subtitle of this chapter is, 'in which miss drea casually breaks hearts (and canon)'. Good luck :)

Daud can’t breathe. 

Corvo is gone, darkness closing on the place he disappeared. The only light is the rapid flickering blue of Jessamine at his side, and he swallows hard. When Daud finally looks at her, her chest is moving rapidly as though she’s heaving in breaths, but the motion is utterly silent. 

“Leviathan will kill him,” she whispers.

“No,” Daud says, voice cracking. “Leviathan will possess him.”

That brings her gaze to him. “You cannot possibly know that,” she says.

Daud rises to his feet, rubbing trembling fingers over his mouth. “Saw it in a dream,” he admits, looking out over the expanse of the Void as though it would give him answers. “But are any dreams really just that, here?”

There was a long pause.

“No.” Jessamine looks back out over the floating platforms. “We should move on.”

Daud scoffs a broken laugh. “How, exactly? As you’re so fond of pointing out,  _ I  _ don’t have magic anymore.”

“You were Marked once,” Jessamine answers. “The Void remembers.”

He looks down at his left hand, a reflex still. “What does that matter?”

Jessamine’s figure flickers. “The Void needs an avatar. It will bend to small efforts of will. You must wish to reach Corvo; if you don’t, the Void won’t answer.” She makes an expansive gesture to the floating rocks. “Time to prove your devotion, Knife of Dunwall.”

When he looks up again, she’s gone, her blue light streaking across the Void. 

Daud closes his eyes.

At first, he has no idea what Jessamine wants him to do. He has no magic, nothing that enables him to move platforms, or himself, through space.  _ Small efforts of will _ , she’d said, and he is reminded of Corvo’s explanation of magic. 

Spells were useless, he’d said, back in the days of sunlight and Karnaca. That magic, true magic, were done with the right place, the right time, and a small effort of will. You had to want it, and the Void always knew when you didn’t. 

Daud is no good with spells or magic. He’d used the Mark to the best of his ability but he’d never attempted anything else. His mother was the spellcrafter in the family, and Daud had inherited none of her talents.

Corvo is counting on him, Jessamine is mocking him, and Daud is tired of failing.

He opens his eyes again, to find where Jessamine had abandoned him to, and when he’s certain he’s gotten the details down he reaches out with his mind and puts himself there.

The ground beneath his feet shifts, then is gone.

His eyes fly open as he falls, and Daud grabs the rapidly disappearing ledge, fingers scraping the rock. It takes a minute for him to climb back up onto the platform where Jessamine stands, and despite the error in judgement, Daud has done it.

“I expected an assassin of your renown to have better aim,” Jessamine says.

Daud exhales harshly through his nose. “I’m not an assassin anymore,” he snaps, because there’s no way in the Void he’s telling her that his eyesight has been steadily failing him.

Jessamine doesn’t reply to that, thankfully. Instead she disappears and streaks across the Void to land on another platform, this one a little closer to him.

He closes his eyes and steps, picturing Jessamine instead of the fuzzy details of the platform. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s directly in front of Jessamine, barely any space between them. She stares at him, one eyebrow arched high. He takes a step back but offers no apologies. “Where to next?” he drawls. 

She turns away from him, searching the horizon line. “There,” she says. “There’s a high concentration of magic.” She disappears between heartbeats, and Daud sighs, the game of cat and mouse growing old before it has even started. He can barely see where Jessamine has landed, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to make that jump. 

Instead, he focuses on a closer - if smaller - platform, landing there when he focuses on the the stones there. It’s almost like transversal again, except there’s no rush of air or sound, he’s simply changed location. There’s no internal counter for mana, no drain on his resources. 

Logically, it makes no sense, but Corvo had said Delilah was a witch before she was Marked, so perhaps this strange ability is possible outside of the Void after all. He glances at Jessamine, close enough to see her unimpressed face, and steps forward into her space again. 

This time, she’s the one who backs up.

“You waste time with your detours.”

Daud curbs a growl with difficulty. “I’m doing the best I can, Empress,” he bites out through gritted teeth. “If you have a better suggestion, then let’s have it.”

“It’s as though you don’t wish to save Corvo at all,” she retorts, red flickering through her form. 

He snaps his mouth shut. “Provoking me gains us nothing,” he finally says after a long pause. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” He turns away from her, stepping to the edge of the platform.

She disappears again, and Daud tracks her across the expanse, using the small floating stones to walk across the Void toward her. It takes time, he has to angle himself just so, or risk dropping into the sea below, but he makes it to her side. 

“Why  _ are  _ you here,” she demands when he’s stopped moving.

“I’m here for Corvo.”

She scoffs. “Am I simply supposed to believe that? Daud, the Knife of Dunwall had a change of heart?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations, Empress.”

Jessamine crowds up against him, despite the fact that she goes through him with a bone-deep chill instead of pushing him back. “I am  _ the only one _ you owe an explanation to.”

Daud backs away from the cold of her touch that lingers on his skin and seeps into his bones. “If you’ve been watching for as long as you say you have, then you already have your answers.” 

“Is that so?” she asks. There’s something in her tone that Daud doesn’t like. “From where I stand, it looks as though you took my life and seduced what was left of his.”

His lip curls. “We should move on.” 

There’s nothing he can say to that without telling her too much. Jessamine may be right about being owed an explanation in his own words, but Daud doesn’t have the vocabulary.

“Very well,” she bites out, and disappears.

He uses the strange transversal to cross the Void to get to her, stepping from one stone to the next until he finds himself walking into a memory instead of to Jessamine’s side. 

This memory is more recent. Daud recognizes the styles of architecture in the room he enters as the gauche imperialism of the mid-1700s. The room is half finished, constructed but unfurnished.

A man sits on the floor of the room, an Overseer mask at his side. Daud circles around him, crouching down to see his face. He pauses, trying to remember where he’s seen the man before.

“High Overseer Francis Perry,” the Outsider says, stepping out of the shadows in a cloud of ash. 

The Overseer looked up, eyes dazed. “You again,” he murmurs, sounding resigned. “Come to finish me off, then, creature?”

A smirk curls the Outsider’s mouth, and Daud has seen the Outsider many times over the years; but he’s never seen the Outsider look  _ dangerous _ before. “Finish you off? Do try to be less dramatic, High Overseer. It’s unbecoming of a man of your station to be so  _ fanciful. _ ”

Daud realizes with a start why he recognizes the man now. He’d seen a portrait of High Overseer Perry when he spent a season at the Academy. He was lauded as the first Overseer to do battle with the Outsider and his death had never been confirmed - he’d simply vanished into thin air.

“Dramatic,” Perry scoffs. “If you aren’t here to kill me, what are you here for?”

Daud now knows why that is.

The Outsider’s smirk widens. “I’m here to give you a gift.”

To his credit, Perry seems to understand immediately and he scrambles to his feet, backing away from the Outsider. “No,” he gasps. “You can’t.”

Lifting an eyebrow, the Outsider regards Perry with amusement. “Can I not?” he wonders idly, and the burn of magic fills the air with the familiar scent of ozone and brine. The Mark flares on Perry’s left hand, bright even through his gloves before fading.

“No,” Perry moans, crumpling to his knees. “No, you’ve ruined me.”

The Outsider watches him without expression. “You’re an interesting man, High Overseer,” he says, disappearing and reappearing by Perry’s side. “You sought me out, fought back when you found me; this is a reward, not a punishment.” He leans in to Perry’s space, smirking again when Perry scrambles back. “Let us see if you can continue to hold my interest, High Overseer. Though… I suppose that title is no longer accurate.”

Perry backs up until he hits the window and Daud’s attention is drawn to a sudden flaring of light outside the pane of glass. 

The familiar sight of a Fugue Feast parade is drawn into sharp relief. Daud can only watch as history unfolds. 

“I can’t go back,” Perry says, eyes still wide with horror. It’s frozen into his face, and his gaze is fixed on the abandoned Overseer mask on the floor. “I can’t go - you’ve stolen me.”

“All the best things are stolen, Francis,” the Outsider drawls. 

“You’ve made me into a fool!” he shouts, finding his feet and staring the Outsider down.

It has little effect on the Outsider.

“Time makes fools of you all,” he says. “Do make it fun to watch.” 

Perry freezes, as does the parade that Daud can see through the window, and he turns to look at the Outsider again. This time, those unfeeling eyes are on him. “High Overseer Francis Perry disappears tonight,” Daud says. “No one ever hears from him again.”

The Outsider tilts his head to the side. “Fascinating,” he murmurs. “You are here, but not here. Where do you come from, specter, if not the Void?”

Daud shrugs. “Technically, I’m in the Void right now. We both are.” He gestures to the frozen Perry. “This is just a memory to me.”

The Outsider disappears, reappearing closer to him, looming into his space. “I’ve seen your face before.”

“You Mark me, sometime in the future,” Daud answers. “And I’ve spoken to you several times in each of your memories.” 

There’s an expression on the Outsider’s face that clearly tells Daud he dislikes not being the most knowledgeable person in the room. “When?”

“Eighteen twenty,” he answers. “I think.”

“You think,” the Outsider replies, flat and unimpressed.

Daud shrugs one shoulder. “It was a long time ago. I barely remember that day.”

“A God gives you a gift, and you can’t recall the date.” The Outsider’s voice is laden with so much familiar sarcasm that Daud misses Corvo with a shocking intensity. The Outsider’s gaze drops to his hand. “You are not Marked now.”

“Someone steals it. They kill you, and they steal it, and I’m in the Void trying to get you back.” The Outsider’s vaguely perplexed expression is a bright spot in all this, at least, and Daud steps away from him. “I’m still not telling you my name.”

“Fascinating,” the Outsider murmurs. “You are outside the flow of time, I cannot see you in all the futures I can glean. You could say anything and I would not know the difference between truth and lies. How novel.”

Daud has never considered the possibility that the Outsider wouldn’t believe him. That seems foolish now, considering what he knows of the Outsider’s upbringing, and the horrors he’d survived. “When you were human,” Daud says slowly, “your eyes were blue.”

Slowly, the slight smirk on the Outsider’s face drains away to be replaced with surprise. 

“They kept you in a cage,” Daud says, speaking quickly, rushing through what he remembers from the other memories. “They barely fed you, they dyed your clothing and your skin and tied you to an altar and --” 

“ _ Enough _ !” The Outsider grabs Daud, but before he can do much more than curl his fingers into Daud’s vest, he disappears like ash on the wind. 

The memory is gone, and Daud is alone.   
  
He turns to find Jessamine regarding him with an expression he can't place. "What?" he snaps.   
  
"You had a complicated relationship with him," Jessamine says. It isn't a question, but it begs some sort of answer.   
  
"I hate him."   
  
"If you truly hate him, why are you here?"    
  
Daud opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. A knowing smirk twists the corner of Jessamine's lips, and she vanishes once more.

He has to spin and find her again, re-orienting himself on the platform. It’s another few minutes before he reaches her side, annoyed that she keeps dodging him, annoyed that this strange magic is useless except for moving, annoyed at the Void itself.

“You’re a real piece of work,” he growls once he steps over to her. “You could easily leave me here to die.”

She gives him a scathing look. “If I were to do so, Corvo would be lost.”

The thought makes Daud sick but he spits it out anyway. “If he becomes the avatar of the Void, you would never lose him again.” 

Jessamine gazes at him. “Yes,” she agrees. “We would live out a thousand years here, and he would be miserable. I want his happiness more than I want him mine.”

The words strike through the heart of him. Slowly, Daud nods. When Jessamine’s eyes narrow, he turns away, looking out over the horizon. “If he chose to stay here with you, I wouldn’t fault him for it,” he muttered. “I’d rather he be happy.”

There’s another long pause before Jessamine says, “You must keep your strength up.”

“I just ate,” Daud protests. “With Corvo.”

Jessamine stares him down. “And if we find him and you are weak from hunger? How will you defend him then?”

Daud sighs, giving up. Arguing with a ghost is pointless, and she’s right; if they were to turn a corner and find Corvo fighting for his life, Daud would be next to useless as it is. He sits on the ledge, legs dangling over the side and opens the bag of supplies Corvo had insisted they bring. 

He takes a bite of cheese, not really tasting it. 

“Is this just folly?” he wonders out loud. “Are we chasing after a ghost?”

“Well,” Jessamine says softly. “ _ You _ are.” 

Daud pauses, mid-bite. He turns around to look at her, incredulous. 

“But I’m not following Corvo’s spirit,” she continues. “I’m following the Outsider’s. If Corvo gives in… we’ll know long before we find them.”

Judging by the speed with which the Void is falling apart, Daud agrees with the sentiment. “And if he gives in?”

“We must hope that there is still enough of himself left to send you back from whence you came,” Jessamine answers. 

The cheese Daud made himself eat turns over in his stomach. “We’re taking too long,” he says. “Aren’t we?”

She sits beside him, far enough away so their arms don’t brush and the terrible cold won’t seep into his skin. “This is the Void,” she answers. “We have nothing but time.”

Daud scowls. “We both know that’s oxshit.”

“It’s best I can do. My resources are as limited as yours.” 

Two lost souls in the Void, and the most he can do is transverse without a Mark. There’s much that sits unsaid between them - a murder, a kidnapping and Daud’s own heart. 

He wants to apologize, to say  _ something _ more than the childish sniping they’ve been doing thus far. Gathering his courage - and his words - Daud opens his mouth but is denied the chance to speak.

“It is done,” Jessamine says, her eyes very bright where they bore into his. 

“It’s never been  _ done _ ,” Daud says, bitter. 

Jessamine doesn’t look away, her expression like silver fire. “For Corvo, it is. He has forgiven you.”

“You haven’t.”

Her lips twist up in another smirk. “I am dead. The dead do not forgive.”

That sounds like Abbey propaganda to him. Daud rolls his eyes. “You’re more than just dead,” he mutters. 

“I must be,” Jessamine murmurs. “Because anything else he’d try to save.” She stands, looking down at him. “We should continue. There is another surge of magic this way.” 

This time, just before she disappears, she points.

It’s a start.


	11. 11. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thomas hauls Emily back, his arms wrapped around her waist when she goes for the stairs. “Emily,” he hisses. “You can’t go down there!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my beloved Dani, of course, who may murder me. And Lex - happy birthday darling, Eldi, for all the art. Estora, for the help in making it worse, and the editing. For everyone on tumblr who sends me messages and asks, and screams at me. I welcome your reactions today. Bring it.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com), for all your needs.
> 
> Remember that I love you.

Thomas hauls Emily back, his arms wrapped around her waist when she goes for the stairs. “Emily,” he hisses. “You can’t go down there!”

“He’s going to  _ kill her _ ,” she says, and Thomas’ arms tighten. “Thomas, let go, she’s my friend!” 

He pulls her further away from the balcony so she can’t see, but the sound of a palm hitting flesh echoes up to their hiding space. 

“ _ Think about it _ !” Thomas hisses. “If you reveal anything to Khulan about knowing Daria is a woman, then he’ll come down just as hard - if not harder - on you. We cannot afford to get the Abbey’s attention, not now, not ever.”

Emily feels angry tears spring to her eyes and she wipes them away. She is tired of feeling  _ weak _ . “Thomas, if I abandon her, what sort of friend am I then?”

Thomas looks up and down the hall before pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin. “The sort that knows when to pick her battles,” he murmurs. “You can’t save her from this, but you can get ahead of the curve. C’mon, this way.” 

He takes her hand, their fingers laced together and pulls her along the hall, away from the shouting. Thomas calls the elevator, but Emily can still hear the shouting. She thinks she’ll hear the sound of Daria’s pain for the rest of her life.

“Where are we going?” Emily asks, tightening her fingers around Thomas’. 

The elevator ascends silently, and Thomas pulls her closer. “Top floor,” he answers. 

Once the elevator dings to a stop, they step out into the Royal Quarters, then down the hall. It’s opposite where her and Thomas’ rooms are, and Emily realizes with a start where Thomas is taking her.

The Spymaster quarters, where Rinaldo took up shop. 

Thomas knocks once, then twice again and once before stepping inside. Rinaldo is sitting in the large window, crouched and looking out over the courtyard of the Tower. 

“Rin,” she says. 

He jumps down, a familiar smile on his face. “Hey, Em,” he says, crossing the room to wrap her in a hug. “Come to tell me why the Overseers just stormed the front gates?”

“They’re here for Daria - Darnell. They found out she’s not a man,” Emily says quickly. “They have her down in the hall.”

Rinaldo’s smile fades. “I’ll get in touch with Slackjaw,” he says. “Khulan’s a moderate, he won’t kill her, but he will throw her out. Slackjaw’s been taking in all the displaced folk who come calling.” 

He breaks from them to go to the desk.  He scrawls a quick message in his familiar messy handwriting, and hands it off to Thomas. 

“I’ll give it to Sam,” Thomas agrees. 

Emily feels a burst of relief, the first she’s felt in a long time. “Slackjaw can take care of her? He’ll let her join the Bottle Street Bo- Gang?”

Rinaldo nods. “That’s where the Munchkin went. Pip too, and the rest of the people from the Hound Pits who didn’t have a place in the Tower.” He shrugs. “Well, Pip went so he could keep in touch with the rest of the Whalers.”

“We’ll have to have drinks with them again soon,” Thomas says. “Maybe this time, Em, you’ll use the door?”   
  


She smiles a little. “My way was a lot more fun.”

“And much more dangerous,” Thomas points out. “You could have fallen.”

“You were there,” Emily says. “I wasn't afraid.”

Thomas’ expression softens. 

Rinaldo moves back to the window, watching carefully. “Khulan took her away. My contacts in the Overseers tell me that one doesn't simply quit the Overseers, but when someone is evicted, they end up on the street. Slackjaw will sort her.”

Emily darts forward and hugs him. “Thanks, Rin.” 

“Corvo left me a lot of ground work.” He hugs her carefully. “I hope I'm ably filling his shoes. At least, a little.”

Emily tries to smile. It's been getting harder to do it genuinely. “You do wonderfully.”

He tips her a wink. 

Once the coast is clear, Thomas leads Emily back to her office. The halls are silent, somber, as though the building is reflecting what had happened with Daria. 

Thomas closes them into her office and he turns to her with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. “I'd like to speak with you about something,” he admits. “I'd hoped for a better moment but I want to give you some time to think about it.”

Emily leans against the edge of her desk. “You can tell me anything, Thom, of course.”

Thomas looks away briefly. “I'm going to make you an offer,” he says, the words dragged out of him. “If you do decide to marry Havelock, I want you to have… a first time that you can remember fondly, instead of an awkward wedding night with him.”

She can feel her face turn crimson. “What are you saying?” She asks, putting her hands to her face to cool its heat. 

He crosses the room to stand in front of her, gently pulling her hands away from her cheeks, and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I'm offering me,” he says. 

Her blush only gets worse. 

She knows Thomas is handsome. She's had it thrown her in her face so often these days that she's more than aware. She can't even say she hasn't thought about it - when she'd wondered about boys, back in Aventa quarter, Thomas was the ideal she'd held up in her mind. 

Wyman had been handsome, strong and sure of themselves and Emily had been drawn to their confidence. Alexi is beautiful, wild and free and her smile made Emily's insides turn over. 

Thomas, though - he is the one she couldn't let herself want.

Thomas’ smile has faded away to nothing and Emily realizes with a start that she's been silently staring at him for longer than is either polite or necessary. 

“You don't have to say yes,” he says, so gently that it makes shame curdle low in her gut. Shame is a well known friend to her now; she's used to its presence. She just regrets that Thomas can feel some echo of it not because she doesn’t want what he offers -  _ don’t I? _ \- but because she’s even contemplating this. 

Havelock already can't rely on her. If he found out she was seriously thinking about this? He'd never trust her again. 

“Emily,” Thomas says and she refocuses on him. “It's not a test. You can say no, I won't be angry.”

“It's not a no,” she blurts out, graceless and awkward. “I don't want to be… I don't want to go into that knowing... nothing.” 

Thomas looks so surprised it's almost comical. “Well,” he says in shades of his normal flirtatious tones, “I've been told I'm a lovely teacher.”

Emily giggles, hiding her face again. 

“I'm not ready,” she finally manages to say. “Daud - he told me to make it mean something. I want it to mean something.”

Thomas nods, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek. She'd seen her mother do that to Corvo and Emily leans into the touch, starving for it. 

“Whenever you're ready,” he says. “No rush, no pressure.” 

Emily blinks when he pulls away. 

“You have a meeting to get ready for.”

He's right, and Emily gathers the material that Esma had sent over. More banking crisis notes that Emily barely understands, of course. 

“I really will think about it,” she promises. 

Havelock can never know.

*

Esma is not at the council meeting.

Emily frowns at the man sitting in her seat, and looks over her shoulder at Thomas. He looks just as confused as her, and he shrugs, his eyes telling her he doesn’t know what to say. 

“Farley,” Emily murmurs, “is Esma well?”

Farley leans in close, his hand on her shoulder. “Esma is fine,” he confirms. “Ichabod Boyle has returned from Whitecliff. He’s resumed his place on the council.”

The room suddenly feels a thousand times more hostile than it ever has. 

“Welcome, Lord Boyle,” Emily says, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s good to see you once again.”

Ichabod’s smile is oily and slick, and Emily suppresses a shiver. “Of course,” he says, “it’s good to be home, Empress.”

She nods back, and opens her file to the first thing on their agenda. “I see Lady Esma has written out another draft of her trade agreement,” Emily says, looking at the notation. “Have you brought it with you, Lord Boyle?”

His smile turns sharp. “It’s a trade agreement of my own making, Empress,” he said, and his aide begins passing around a new chunk of papers.

Even if he hadn’t said anything, Emily can easily see that this document wasn’t written by Esma. Esma spent years scavenging for food so her daughter and sister wouldn’t starve. This document has removed most of the visible bullet points that helped the common folk, instead outlining the ways the Lords and upper echelon would benefit. It’s a good document; clear, concise, and well written - but Emily can’t see any part of it that helps the people she wants to. 

Jessamine would know what to say - and how to broach this concern. But Emily might just end up committing political suicide if she says the wrong thing, so she makes a notation on her document, sliding it towards Farley. 

He scans it quickly, then smiles at her. “The Empress has a point,” he says, his booming voice overtaking the room. “Ichabod, you’ve completely removed the portions Lady Esma put in that cared for the common folk.”

Ichabod shrugs. “We must take care of the people who will put money back into our economy,” he replies, nonchalant. 

The absence of Esma’s pragmatic presence stabs Emily between the ribs.

“If we don’t find food for the common folk, we won’t have an economy to put money into,” Emily points out. “They’re the ones who suffered the most under Delilah’s false rule.”

For a brief moment, Ichabod looks like he swallowed a lemon. “Who do you expect to pay for these trade routes, Empress?” he asks, smooth as silk. 

Emily scowls. “Are you suggesting that you would  _ refuse _ to pay to reopen the trade routes because  _ you personally _ are not benefiting from them?” 

Ichabod pauses. “Of course not,” he says after a second. “But you must admit, Empress, immediately taxing the noble class is not a  _ wise _ move.”

“It is the  _ only  _ move,” Emily says. “The common people don’t have anything. I’ve lived with them for the last year, while most of the Lords and Ladies of my Empire hid away in their homes, or fled Dunwall. I watched them struggle, and starve, just to live another day. I am not going to sit down in my Tower and add to their burden, when the best and most expedient way to get food back into this city is through us.”

“And if the noble houses should refuse?” Ichabod asks, and something in his tone makes Emily wonder how much she doesn’t know about what goes out outside her Tower.

Her eyes narrow. “Then Theodanis Abele will help, and you may tell the commoners that foreigners were willing to see them fed and well again while their own people would have let them starve.”

Havelock clears his throat. “I’m sure that Ichabod isn’t saying he’d  _ refuse _ , Empress,” he says.

Something in his tone hangs heavily in the room, and after a pregnant pause, Ichabod backs down. 

Emily seizes the silence. “After the destruction that Delilah brought, it is more imperative than ever that we work together,” she insists. “It is not simply enough to sit up here in this Tower and discuss ways to make it better, we must actively make it better.” 

Ichabod doesn’t look convinced; instead, his face arranges itself into something just shy of pleasant that makes her uncomfortable and on edge. “I understand completely, Empress,” he says. “Perhaps I would feel more at ease knowing exactly how you intend to spend the coin.”

“The first thing we must do is open the blockade,” she says. “My father and his partner are in Morley right now, convincing them of our continued health and presence.”

 

Dane Ambrose nods. “A sound plan. Lord Attano is well known, and once the information regard his false imprisonment was released, he is just the sort of tragic figure that Morley can put their trust in.”

Emily isn’t too sure about that but she nods along anyway. “Once the Blockade breaks, Karnaca is willing to ship food as a gesture of goodwill. Once we distribute that back into Dunwall, we will begin growing our own again when the seasons change.”

“So we’re meant to rely entirely on Karnaca?” Ichabod says, a sourness behind his tone. “Empress, you must see the folly in that.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Must I?”

“Duke Theodanis has been very good to the Empress,” Havelock says, his tone severe. “Dunwall won’t produce their own food until next Month of Harvest, and everyone will starve without outside help.”

Ichabod’s mouth twists. “Very well. I will revise the trade agreement,” he says. “Again.”

“See that you do.” Emily turns her attention to the other council members. “Is there anything else that requires discussion today?” 

“The Plague Cure,” Peverly says. “Where are we with that?”

This at least, Emily can talk about at length.

“Doctors Joplin and Sokolov have been performing tests on the infected who have yet to turn into weepers,” Emily says. “They’ve been working closely with the Bottle Street Distillery boys, who perform sweeps with the guards to round up anyone else who is sick.”

“And their successes? Failures?” 

Emily pulls out Sokolov’s report, passing it around the table. “As you can see, in the infected people who haven’t yet turned, they are steadily improving rather than growing worse. Sokolov’s notes are somewhat hard to read, but with constant work around the clock, they’re coming up with a stronger batch of Cure that doesn’t just inoculate and immunize, but also eradicates.”

“Have they given you a timeline?” Ambrose asked, scanning the page. 

Emily shakes her head. “Nothing definite.”

“The plague is the reason people refuse to return to Dunwall,” Ichabod snaps. “Perhaps they should think about that when the common folk complain about going hungry.”

Emily stares at him. “Lord Boyle, have you  _ met  _ Anton Sokolov?” When Boyle shakes his head, Emily says, “There is no rushing him. He’s Royal Physician for a reason, and if he says the cure is not ready, then we must wait on his word.”

“Whatever you say, Empress,” Ichabod says, and there’s so much insolence packed into his tone that Emily can’t believe he’d say it.

Havelock snaps his folder closed. “That’s quite enough,” he says. “Unless anyone else has something productive to add to the discussion, I believe we all have better things to do with our time.” 

As soon as they leave the chamber, Emily mumbles an excuse to Havelock, heading to her rooms rather than her office. Council meetings just get harder and harder the more she goes to them, they drain her of everything until she feels hollowed out and exhausted.

The view from her window is bleak as ever, and Emily can’t help but think about what Ichabod Boyle insinuated. 

It wasn’t the plague that had ruined the Empire, but the death of her mother. She’s been aware of that since she was ten 

She knows Daud still blames himself, despite how far they’ve come. She’d been angry, for a very long time, but the longer she’d spent in the Whalers the more she’d seen how much he’d regretted killing her mother. She’d seen how it ate at him, and she’s certain that if Daud hadn’t gone to the Void with Corvo, he’d be equally as devastated at the push back she’s experiencing in the council.

Truthfully, she misses them both so badly it physically hurts her chest. 

When she’d thought Corvo had died in Coldridge, she’d learned to shove the grief down, to join the grief over her mother. 

Getting Corvo back had freed her, but she always wonders about what her mother would think about the turn her life has taken.

Emily’s days are so busy that she rarely has trouble falling asleep but once she’s there, it’s only nightmares; her mother watching over her choices, and disapproving. Or failing, over and over to save Corvo that dark night in Karnaca.

She’s so tired of pretending she’s alright.

Arming herself with her blade and the pistol that Daud had spent months teaching her how to use, Emily climbs out her window and down onto the roofs. She knows which ways to go, and without Rinaldo or Thomas there to distract her, she makes good time down to the Black Pony.

As soon as she slips through the roof door, the entire room turns to look at her. Samuel, at the bar, Cecelia, sweeping out the ancient fireplace. Slackjaw too, his face as serious as it ever gets. 

“Miss Emily,” he greets, and despite his expression, his voice is fond. “Alone this time?”

“I just needed to get out,” she admits, walking over to join him at his table. There are two thugs flanking the booth but they give her kind smiles, despite the fact that it does their faces no favors in terms of warmth. “Ichabod Boyle is back.”

“Ah, and up to his old tricks, I imagine,” Slackjaw drawls. He puts a letter down on the table between them. “Your friend Rinaldo has been keepin’ us updated here, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Hear what?” she asks, smiling a thank you up at Cecelia when she deposits a pear soda down on the table for her. 

Slackjaw’s face grows more serious. “Are you marrying Farley Havelock?”

Emily’s smile fades. “Yes,” she says, after an awkward beat. “I am.”

"I take it he courted you good an' proper like a gentleman?"

"...Not exactly," Emily murmurs. "He suggested - I mean, he told me that I'd be facing pressure to marry. And I am. I  _ was _ . But he suggested that if we were to be engaged, it would put offset those pressures."

It's worked so far.

"Ah. Temporary ruse?"

 

Emily blinks. "Yes," she replies, but her heart weighs heavily because she can't remember the last time she thought of her engagement with Havelock as temporary. Only hours ago she responded to Thomas' offer as though she fully intended to go through with the marriage. "I mean. It...  _ was _ . But I think... it's just, he's the only noble of influence I trust, so I think it’s..."

For real.

Slackjaw sips at the glass of alcohol in front of him, regarding her. “Can I tell you a story?” he asks. “Ain’t a happy one, mind.”

“... Alright,” Emily agrees, cautious. 

Slackjaw nods. “Knew a man like your Farley, once. Good man, Slackjaw thought. Let him do his own shit, he brought in coin, brought in food when times were lean. Honor bound, he was, and turns out, he were keeping secrets, big ones. Turns out he weren’t such a good man after all, he liked to  _ look _ like one, he hurt a lot of people, people Slackjaw swore to leave be.” He put his glass down, meeting Emily’s eyes. “Turns out, he had ‘em all fooled, Slackjaw and all.”

“What did he do?”

“Sofia - she was a sweet little thing, liked to sing - she came to Slackjaw, said that my boy, my  _ friend _ , he’s taking the goods for free, makin’ the Cat ladies all think he’s owed their services. Makin’ them think he’s the only one who cares, only to turn around and take away what they want the most. Slackjaw confronts him, and you mind my words Miss Emily. Had to kill him, my friend, I did. ‘Cause when I went for answers, my friend told me I were losin’ my mind, more than I already had.”

Emily flinches, thinking of that last, horrible conversation with Havelock in her rooms. “You killed him because he called you crazy?”

Shaking his head, Slackjaw says, “Ain’t never can trust someone who tells you that you don’t know your own mind, Miss Emily. You’re a smart girl, like Slackjaw, who questions and fights and don’t sit down for nothing.” He finishes his drink, putting it down with a thump. “Slackjaw? I’m crazy. But you? You certainly ain’t.”

Emily bites her lip, his words turning over in her mind. “What happened to Sofia?” 

“Well,” Slackjaw says, a sad smile twisting his mouth. “She never sang again.”

*

Emily makes it back to her rooms before dinner, her mind made up. Thomas’ offer weighs heavily on her, but Slackjaw was right. She knows her own mind and fighting to pretend otherwise just adds to her misery. 

Thomas would never hurt her. Thomas, her closest friend and protector, means everything. 

She re-enters the Tower, hoping Thomas is waiting; she has a ‘yes’ to give him. Her bedroom is as empty as she left though, and so is the hall. 

She makes her way, alone, down to the throne room, hoping to find some answers. She finds Havelock almost immediately, as well as a man she doesn’t recognize. The man stands tall, a hooked nose and blond hair his defining features. 

There are more Overseers by the door, and Emily has seen enough of them for a lifetime. Thomas is nowhere to be found. 

  
"Farley,” Emily greets, concern welling up in her throat. “Have you seen Thomas? And why are the Overseers -?”   
  
"Clemente conducted a routine search of the Royal Quarters and found evidence of Heresy. He's been detained," Havelock explains, his hand on her shoulder.

Emily’s knees feel weak. “Detained?” she echoes.

"It's best you don't see him for now, just in case."   
  
No. No, no, no, this wasn’t meant to happen. Not again, not like Corvo. Not Thomas. 

She should have  _ planned _ for this. Of  _ course _ someone would find heretical things in Thomas' room. 

Of course the Overseers would take him away from her as well.

Her last ounce of strength leaves her and she feels her knees start to buckle - her only saving grace being Havelock’s hand, which sweeps under her elbow and grips hard enough to bruise, stopping her from falling. 

She swallows, then swallows again. "But who will be....?" she hears herself asking.

  
Havelock steers her around, displaying her to the tall man who had been standing by him before. 

"I've found a suitable replacement for the time being, Emily,” he says, voice soothing. “Don't you worry. Let me introduce you to your new Lord Protector. Mortimer Ramsey.”   
  
Ramsey smiles. "Hello, Empress."

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	12. 12. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He steps straight into a familiar memory, and for one heartstopping second Daud cannot tell if it belongs to him, or the Outsider._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, y'all, this is the year anniversary of Omenverse. A year ago today I posted this for Dani's birthday. As ever, this is for my beloved Dani. A happy birthday to both Aeniala and Eldi as well - you three have been so supportive of me. This one especially goes out to Eldi, because this chapter gives you something you've been long waiting for. Thanks for the art, love. <3
> 
> Special thank you to Estora for the edit. You're the best.
> 
> You can find me on [ for all your needs. I follow back and love conversation. :D](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/)

He steps straight into a familiar memory, and for one heartstopping second Daud  cannot tell if  it belongs to him, or the Outsider . 

His younger self stands in the middle of a room,  the Outsider’s Mark half burned into his  left hand already. His  own aches with phantom pain and Daud rubs it against his leg to stop the stinging. 

The Outsider in the memory is smiling, just a little. Daud remembers that grin. He remembers the pride he felt at being chosen by the Outsider. The pride had faded, eventually, into something resembling anger, but Daud had never quite forgotten that smile.

As soon as he enters the room completely, the memory begins to play. 

“You have talent,” the Outsider says to his younger self. “I can make you more. I can make you  _ better _ .”

The Daud in the memory, holds out his hand to watch the Mark burn into his skin. “What does it do?” he asks.

“It gives you the ability to affect the world,” the Outsider says, spinning slowly around Daud, “you reach into the Void, and the Void answers back.” The Mark glows teal, and the Daud in the memory transverses across the room,  his face unscarred and his  eyes wide with shock. 

“What else can I do?” young Daud demands.

The Outsider smirks. “Collect my runes, and you’ll find out.”

That makes his younger self scowl . It’s comforting in a way to see some things never change, really. Daud still cannot abide a mystery. 

He watches as the Outsider sends the memory of a Daud that was through the rigamarole of tests, transversing from space to space, and  finally reaching to pick up the rune that dangled temptingly  in the air. It he recalls correctly, this was the rune that bestowed the gaze of the Void upon him. 

The memory freezes just before young Daud touches it. 

“I do hope,” the Outsider says in his ear, “that you remember this night more clearly now.”

Daud jerks to the side, turning to scowl at the memory of the Outsider. “Rings a few bells.” 

“It seems you were telling me the truth,  _ Daud _ ,” the Outsider drawls, a flash of triumph skating through his cold-marble face at finally uncovering his name. “You are both here, and not here.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you that,” Daud grunts, taking a step back. “You make a point of not listening to me.”

The Outsider’s lips turn up in another hollow smirk. “Say more interesting things, then.” 

Daud rolls his eyes. “Like what?” 

The Outsider vanishes, then materializes across the room, crouching on a ruined lounge that the Daud-that-was had once slept on. “Tell me about  _ you _ ,” the Outsider says, gesturing to the memory. “How does the Void manifest for you?”

“It gave me… the power to share the Mark with others,” Daud finally says, looking away from the Outsider’s expectant face. Talking about his powers makes his hand ache , and he clenches his fist. “We called the Arcane Bond, and it allowed me to… gift the Void to people I trusted, who… trusted me.”

The Outsider vanishes out of his periphery, then appears only a few inches in front of him. “Did it give them the full extent of your power?” the Outsider wonders, smirking again when Daud takes another step away from him.

“No,” Daud says. “Some of them got one thing, others got another. Rarely did people get multiple powers. Only… two of them.” Talking about Billie still hurts as much as talking about the Mark, but Daud pries it out of him. “Thomas, and… Billie.” 

The Outsider’s head tilts to the side, like one of Corvo’s birds. “How long has it been?” the Outsider asks. When Daud shrugs, he sighs. “Don’t be  _ boring, _ Daud.”

“Ask more specific questions, then,” Daud snaps.

“When did you lose the Mark?” the Outsider finally asks,  breaking the silence that has settled between them.

Daud rubs the back of his hand again. “Almost a year.”

Something skates through the Outsider’s expression, but Daud has never been the one who could read him easily. That was always Corvo.

“Have you been searching for me, for that long?” the Outsider asks, that something in his expression rising and falling like a tide.

“We… had to get someone out of the Void, first,” Daud answers. “The person who… killed you.”

The Outsider’s expression stills. “I’m not dead,” he says, after a period of bird-like staring. “If I were dead, you wouldn’t be seeing these memories.” 

That’s something of a relief; they’d seen an apparition of the Outsider, asking them for help, but other than that one encounter there had been no sign that the Outsider even still existed within Leviathan. 

“We spent six months getting the person who tried to take over the Void out. Then several weeks trying to get back into the Void,” Daud says, like a report. “We’ve been navigating your memories ever since.”

The Outsider vanishes again, and Daud rolls his eyes. 

“Who,” the Outsider asks, sitting on top of a broken cupboard, “is  _ we _ ?”

Daud looks away. “My team,” he says. “The ones who shared the Arcane Bond with me. And… someone else, another Marked. He came here with me.”

The sound of displaced air behind him makes him turn around. “Where is he now?” the Outsider asks, too close to Daud again.

“Leviathan took him.”

The slightly mocking smile falls off the Outsider’s face and he jerks forward, fingers reaching out for Daud’s. “Then you must hur--” 

The memory dissolves into ash around him, but Daud can still feel the Outsider’s icy grip around his hand. It was, he realizes, standing on another empty platform, the first time he’s ever seen the Outsider look  _ afraid. _

Jessamine materializes at his side, her own expression something complicated. “We’re getting closer,” she murmurs. 

“I guessed,” he says. “Seeing myself being Marked was a fairly large indicator.”

There's a period of silence after that, before Jessamine finally gestures to his bandolier. “Eat,” she said briskly. “These memories drag long and the Void saps your energy.”

Daud thinks about arguing; he's not hungry, and the last time he'd eaten, the food had sat ill with him. 

She's right though, his limbs are strangely weak, the belts keeping his pouches and jacket close and closed were looser than normal. He'd lost weight, and without a looking glass, he can't tell how much. 

He sits, capitulating, and pulls out the last of the food they'd taken. The bread is stale, the crust hard in his hands, and the cheese is no longer pleasantly soft. He has a handful of Serkonan grapes left, a Gristol apple and a Tyvian pear, all of which have brown spots.

He looks down at the food in his lap. “Time is passing,” he murmurs.

“Too much, I think,” Jessamine agrees.

He eats around the bad spots on the fruit, finishes the cheese. “Empress…” he says, leaving the detritus on the platform, and standing to face her. 

“Again?” she says, turning her face away. “There is nothing left to say.”

“There is,” he insists. “It’s something I should have said first.” Her eyes narrow, but Daud has needed to say it for years now. “I'm sorry.”

Jessamine stills. “Are you?” 

He doesn't look at her. “Since the moment it happened. Since I took the contract. Since I met Corvo in Batista.” He stands, fingers tightening spasmodically on his loose belts.

She stares at him, he can feel it, before she disappears in a flicker of light. Her trail is easy to follow, and he steps after her, coming up next to her with little effort. “Tell him to let me go,” Jessamine says. “When you succeed, and all is right again. Tell him to let me go.”

“Empress,” Daud murmurs. It makes him look at her again, meeting her transparent blue eyes. 

She shakes her head. “I have lingered too long. I have seen too much. When I was the Crow, I could see  _ everything _ . Every thought, every dream, every wish, every secret was mine to know. There is a  _ sickness _ in the Isles, assassin, and it had nothing to do with the plague.”

“Everything?” 

Jessamine’s eyes turn sharp, and for a second Daud can see the way the Crow used to look at him. “In the schoolyard,” Jessamine says with great weight and gravitas, “the other children would marvel at your quick hands. One day, a man came for you, and led you away.” 

Daud’s breath catches. 

“Paid assassin. Daud. The last thing I felt was your blade.”

“ _ Stop _ .”  He backs away . “You made your point.”

“There is no turning back from the path you have chosen,” Jessamine says, and the wind picks up around them. Her bright glow rises, putting off enough light that he casts a shadow on the rock face.

“Empress,” Daud says, perilously close to begging.

The light is a beacon, he can barely see her face through it. “Your hands do violence, but there is a different dream in your heart,” she says, advancing on him. “Why have you been brought here?  _ Am I meant to forgive you for what you did _ ?”

Daud  stares, breathing hard.

“No,” he finally says. “You’re not.”

Jessamine’s intensity lessens slowly, until she returns to the pale, dim glow he’d grown used to. “If you wish for my forgiveness,” she says, a slight echo to her words, “you will tell him to let me go.” She turns away from him. “This way; a memory waits.”

She gestures, and this time when she disappears, the light drops away not like ash, but like feathers, falling to disappear in the darkness of the Void.

He follows after her, stepping where she does until he finds himself in a memory, Jessamine’s light nowhere to be seen.

It reminds him of the small cell the Outsider had once been kept in, and Daud realizes with a jolt that this must be Coldridge. “Corvo,” he breathes, stepping into the memory properly, finding a filthy, too-thin Corvo sitting on a stone block. 

The memory starts, filling the room with darkness. 

“In all the ways the universe could have spun this moment,” the Outsider says from a corner, “this was the one I gave the least credit. I suppose even I can still be surprised.”

When Corvo whirls around, blood spatters the floor and walls. Daud had never realized how poorly Corvo was treated in Coldridge, though the scars should have given it away, in retrospect. He looks  _ terrible _ , awful and emaciated, covered in half-healing or fresh wounds, his left arm pockmarked with burn scars. 

The Outsider appears out of the corner, stepping out of the darkness. “My dear Corvo,” he says, and Daud doesn’t recall the Outsider being  _ nearly _ so solicitous with  _ him _ .

“The Outsider,” Corvo says, and his voice is unrecognizable. 

Daud moves out of his way, letting the Outsider walk by him to settle himself on Corvo’s bed. “Our first meeting was foretold, before you were even a thought in the mind of your mother,” the Outsider says, though Daud definitely doesn’t imagine the flickering glance the Outsider gives him. “Perhaps not in this way, but you were always meant to be here.”  
  
“Jessamine was always meant to die?” Corvo asks sharply, and Daud understands why Jessamine didn’t join him for this memory.

“Yes,” the Outsider says, looking directly at Daud.

Corvo’s reaction is heartbreaking, his shoulders slumping as he collapses on the floor by the Outsider’s leg. “Are you here to take me?” he asks. Daud can hear the hope in his voice.

  
“Take you?” The Outsider asks, amused. “No, my dear, I’m not taking you anywhere.” He reaches out, stroking a hand through Corvo’s filthy hair. “I’m here to offer you a gift. Once, you may have received this in very different ways but now… the future is as clear as mud.” He smiles, tilting Corvo’s chin up. “Do you want it?”

Daud’s eyebrows raise.   
  
Corvo nods. “If we were always meant to get here, then yes, I’ll accept your gift. What do you want in return?”

The Outsider smiles, taking Corvo’s hand. “Oh, simply continue being so very fascinating, my dear. I look forward to seeing how your story unfolds.” He lifts Corvo’s hand, and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

Daud  _ definitely  _ did not get the same treatment.

The memory freezes with the Outsider’s mouth still pressed to Corvo’s hand. “ _ Really _ ?” Daud mutters. “I know you can see me, you might as well get it over with.”

The Outsider stands up, sidestepping Corvo. “I’m surprised to see you here, old friend,” he says, almost sounding like himself. 

Daud shrugs, waving at the memory. “Do we need to keep having the same conversation over and over? If you remember any of these visits at all, you know why I’m here.”

“It’s strange,” the Outsider says, looking down at the frozen Corvo. “I remember this moment perfectly, and I know you were not present. And yet, here you stand.” He turns away when Daud’s left hand becomes visible. “So, she succeeded.”

For the first time, Daud realizes that the Outsider  _ isn’t surprised _ . 

“You  _ knew _ .”

“I knew what she wanted,” the Outsider says, his entire expression drawing down into something exhausted. “There were so many deviations from the expected timeline, yours included, that when she struck, I - lost.”

“You’re still alive,” Daud insists. “You told me so in the last memory.”

“I am,” the Outsider says. “Mostly.”

“Mostly.” The Outsider turns back to face him. “I am Leviathan, and Leviathan is me. Leviathan is  _ every  _ failed avatar of the Void, in one way or another. These memories, they’re just mindless reaching, looking for a way to climb out of Leviathan’s maw.” He holds up a hand, stepping into the simulated moonlight of the memory. 

His skin is transparent.

“You’re running out of time,” Daud murmurs.

“Yes.”

Daud steps forward, letting the moonlight spill between them. “What do I do?”

“You’ll have to hurry,” the Outsider says, still looking at his transparent hand. “You’re getting closer, these memories are recent, and the ones I remember the clearest.” He looks over at Daud. “I thought - where is Corvo?” 

“... Leviathan has him,” Daud says quietly. “He was taken away.”

The Outsider’s expression folds in on itself, going from blank to bleak in the span of a heartbeat. “Go,” he orders. “Find him. Find -  _ me. _ ”

Daud nods. “I’m going as fast as I can.” 

Slowly, the Outsider turns to face him. “Go faster,” he says, and touches Daud’s face, with cool fingers that dissolve on contact.

He is left standing on a small platform, Jessamine several feet away, his fists clenched at his sides. “We’re running out of time,” he says.

Jessamine nods. “Yes,” she agrees. “I know.”

The wind blows, not quite a gale force, bringing with it the scent of blood.

Daud feels ill. “Let’s go.”

“That way,” Jessamine says, and they step off the platform together, landing across the Void nearly at the same time. She pauses, holding her arm out to stop Daud from moving past her before she turns a half step to the left. “There,” she says, and even with his aging eyes, Daud can see the platform, the floating whale oil lantern guttering in the darkness. They walk toward it together, and it feels more like a transversal than it ever has before.

They move together, in sync, focused in their search for Corvo. “We’re getting closer to another memory,” Jessamine says. 

Steeling himself, Daud steps with her, and when he blinks away alarming spots in front of his eyes and finds himself standing in a warehouse. Jessamine is still by his side, and the blood smell that had been carried on the wind grows ever stronger.   
  


Corvo stands  half shrouded by the darkness, his hair long and matted with dust and blood and feathers. As the memory begins, Daud can see the murder of crows above his head, hundreds of birds lining the beams of the ceiling staring down.

His attention is so caught by the birds he almost misses the actual murder. Corvo stands before a body, a man dressed as a guard, blood pooling around him. Corvo himself stands in a circle of whale oil, strange runes painted around the rim.

There's a flap of wings and a crow materializes out of the darkness, landing on Corvo's shoulder. Her Void-purple eyes gleam with blood and magic. “It's you,” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

Corvo bends at the knee, cutting into the guard without a speck of remorse or guilt. He flays open the corpse, but instead of the blood pouring out, it rises, mist-like, into the air.

With deft movements, Corvo runs his fingers through the air, collecting blood on his palms. It runs down his right arm, tattooless and covered with long vertical cuts, some scarred, most fresh. 

The blood hanging in the air expands with each movement of his hands, and slowly a portal to the Void opens above the exsanguinated corpse. 

“Emily!” Corvo yells, his voice hoarse with disuse. “Emily, I'm coming!”

Fire burns along his left arm. 

“Show me where she is,” he snarls, either to the magic or to his crows, but there's no answer. ”Go!” The crows descend on the portal, arrowing through it and disappearing. 

Corvo waits. Though the time in the Void passes strangely, the sun in the memory crawls across the floor at a clip that makes Daud dizzy. Once, twice, three times the sun makes a circuit through the warehouse - three days, Corvo holds the portal open, waiting with Jessamine on his shoulder. 

As the time passes, Corvo's strength fails him. He goes to one knee, then down to both, his hands shaking. Finally, the crows soar back through, landing around him and cawing a cacophony. 

It's just noise to Daud, but Corvo - Corvo looks  _ gutted. _

Out of the corner of his eye, Daud can see where the Outsider is watching, his face solemn. Corvo's hands lower, sticky with dried blood, and the portal collapses. 

 

He stumbles away from the corpse. “What have I done?” he breathes. “ _ What have I done? _ ”

“You disappoint me, my dear,” the Outsider says, and Corvo's entire body quails at that. He collapses down onto the packed dirt floor, and he sobs, shoulders shaking, heaving with the strain. “The Butcher of Cullero, that's what they call you now. My, how far you've fallen.”

Corvo curls up tighter at the words. “Please,” he begs. 

“Please what?” The Outsider finally steps out of the shadows, looking down at Corvo. “Did you expect to keep my interest?”

But Corvo only shakes his head, reaching out for the Outsider. It must have been unexpected, because the Outsider doesn't move in time, finding himself with Corvo pressed against him. 

The Outsider looks poleaxed, blinking down at Corvo. “I'm sorry,” Corvo whispers. “I'm so - I'll make it right. I'll fix it.”

The memory freezes there.

“So this is what you meant,” Daud said. “When you said we'd both lost your interest and gained it again.”

“Yes.” 

The Outsider pulls himself out of the memory, looking down at Corvo's face, still twisted in distress. 

“I need to find him,” Daud says. “Where are you?” He steps between the memory of Corvo and the Outsider. 

There's a sad smile dancing along the corners of the Outsider's mouth. “It's too late, Daud. I'm lost.”

For the first time, Daud realizes that the floating specter of the Outsider isn't just not touching the ground, but his legs and boots have faded so much that they might as well not exist at all. His skin is so translucent that it's transparent. 

“I have to be close!” Daud insists. “This was six years ago! Seven! Just give me  _ something _ !” 

“There is nothing to give,” the Outsider says, and his figure shakes like a tremor. “Perhaps when Corvo gives in, he'll be able to send you home.”

Daud lunges. “No!” he snarls. “You can't give up now you black eyed bastard, not after all this!”

His fingers close on the Outsider's thin wrists. 

The warehouse disappears but his hands still span the Outsider's limbs, clinging tightly. For a second, all he can do is blink, and in his second of inattention, a shadow falls over them both. 

“Move!” Jessamine shouts, and Daud reaches blindly, dragging the Outsider with him. They stumble, several feet away Leviathan landing where he'd just been standing. 

Daud turns to face down the monster, letting the Outsider go. 

**FINALLY,** Leviathan purrs.

Daud feels his breath freeze in his chest. Caught in Leviathan’s embrace is Corvo, half wrapped in black ropes of sinew and Void, half reaching out, his muscles standing in sharp relief.

His eyes are horribly open, one eye a familiar blazing silver, the other like ink, spilled from lid to lid. 

Corvo's mouth moves and Leviathan speaks.  **YOU'RE TOO LATE. IT'S OVER. THE CROW HAS MADE HIS CHOICE.**

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	13. 13. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The day Emily turns seventeen, Corvo and Daud have been gone six months nearly to the day, and the last of her hope is washed away by the rain that commemorates her birthday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my beloved Dani, who puts up with my penchant for uncomfortable issues. For Eldi, Aeniala, and everyone who has supported me. I truly appreciate every single one of you. <3
> 
> **Warning: Some extreme emotional manipulation in this chapter. It's Emily's penultimate plot narrative, and it deals with some particularly tough issues, such as privacy, non-consent, and the manipulation of a teenage girl to force her to give up her bodily autonomy. This does, however, end on a positive note. You made it through, my darlings, now you can watch the aftermath.**

13\. EMILY

The day Emily turns seventeen, Corvo and Daud have been gone six months nearly to the day, and the last of her hope is washed away by the rain that commemorates her birthday. 

She’d tried to get Khulan to let her see Thomas, but had been shut down at every turn. The Philosophers had barred her from returning to Bottle Street, and without a good reason, Emily can’t find a way to contact Esma Boyle. 

Council meetings are beyond a battle, and she has to fight tooth and nail for every small concession from the Boyle Bank. Without Esma in charge, construction has slowed to a halt, and Emily can feel the tides of Dunwall turning against her. 

She is surrounded by people, and she has never felt more alone.

“They want me to fail,” Emily says softly, curled up in the high window of Rinaldo’s office. 

“Em,” he murmurs, and she shakes her head, cutting him off.

“They do,” she insists. “Ichabod Boyle wants me to fail, Dane Ambrose wants me to fail - the entire council wants me to fail, and the only person stopping that from happening is Farley.”

Rinaldo’s mouth tightens. 

“Emily,” he says, “are you sure -” 

He’s cut off by the door opening, and Ramsey steps in, a cold smile fixed on his face. 

She’s already unfolding, moving to put even more distance between herself and Rinaldo, when he says, “ _ Empress _ , I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Protector Ramsey, I told you I was in a meeting with my Spymaster,” she said, trying to sound severe.

Clearly she fails. 

“I believe, Empress, it would be best if you conducted your meetings in your office,” Ramsey says, his voice reminding her a slick of oil. “If anything were to happen to you up here, why, no one would know.”

Rinaldo growls, the sound rumbling out of his chest. Emily steps in front of him. “You’re quite right,” she says. “Master Rinaldo, I will speak to you later.”

She follows Ramsey out of the room but not before seeing Rinaldo’s crumpled, desolate expression. 

Emily can understand the sentiment. 

Thomas is gone, Rulfio is gone, she hasn’t seen Pip in months, and the rest of the Whalers left behind in the Aventa Quarter have been barred from her for a year now. Her father, Daud, they’re as good as dead. Emily’s family, her life, everything she’s known for ten years or more is gone.

Sometimes, Emily wonders what’s keeping her tied to Dunwall when even the memory of Jessamine feels so distant and faded. 

Once she’s in her office, her paperwork strewn around the desk as she works, her skin starts to crawl, as though someone is staring at her. Emily had grown up around assassins and magic; she’s used to going with her gut. She looks up to find Ramsey sitting on the couch across the room, his eyes boring into her.

“Can I help you?” she asks, lifting one eyebrow.

Ramsey smiles. “Emily - can I call you Emily?” he says. She opens her mouth to reply, but he talks over her. “Emily, we really must talk about your penchant for… disappearing.”

Emily frowns at him. “I hardly do that.”

Ramsey ignores her. “With tensions being what they are, it’s more important than ever that you remain with me until your marriage.” 

“I’m not getting married for another  _ year _ ,” she says.

“All the more reason.”

Emily scowls. “And what exactly are you expecting?” she demands. “You’re hardly able to be with me around the clock.”

Ramsey shrugs one shoulder. “We will have to change your routine, and my accommodations. Things are tense, Emily, and Lord Havelock is afraid for your safety.”

Her new Lord Protector is looking at her with an expression Emily can’t read. It reminds her awfully of the way men used to look at Kita when she’d do the shopping in the Aventa markets.

Emily had never put much stock into Kita’s warnings. Now she wishes she had.

“I am quite certain that my accommodations are fine as they are,” she says. “I’ll put your recommendation under consideration. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot to go over before tomorrow.” 

Ramsey settles back in his seat. “Of course,  _ Empress _ .”

Emily hates the way her title settles in his mouth, as though he’s sliding his tongue around the syllables. 

She reads through Ichabod Boyle’s latest treaty draft until her appointment with Khulan, and even though she dreads the conversation they have to have, she’s thankful that Ramsey gives them the privacy she’s desired all morning.

Khulan watches Ramsey leave before he turns to her. “If you’re going to ask about your former Lord Protector, I implore you to cease and desist,” Khulan says. “There’s only so much I can try to protect you from, Empress.”

That makes Emily blink in surprise. “Protect me?”

“I may be the High Overseer, but I answer to a greater power, and finding heretical things so close to you, the Empress of the Isles?” Khulan shakes his head. “There have been questions, ones I’ve been neglecting to answer out of respect for you.”

“I just - will you tell me if he’s alright?” Emily asks. 

Khulan finally nodded. “Thomas is fine,” he said. “He shows no sign of the Outsider’s Mark, and does not react to the Ancient Music.”

The Outsider has been dead for a year. Of  _ course _ he doesn’t have the Outsider’s Mark. 

“Then you can let him go,” Emily says.

There’s an awkward pause before Khulan slowly shakes his head. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, Empress. But since Delilah and her witches, we’ve been taking no chances.”

“Thomas isn’t a heretic,” she says, her tone quiet and measured because if she speaks any louder, her voice will crack and give her away. She can’t show them anything, no slip ups, no emotions. 

“And you would know this how?” Khulan asks mildly. “You see, that’s the trouble with eyewitness testimonies. We can’t trust anyone at their word. You would do much to protect your friend, I think, even lie.”

Emily feels like her chest is caving in. “But -”

Khulan leans forward. “Empress, be careful,” he warns. “Don’t say anything you can’t take back.” 

“You don’t understand,” Emily says, exhausted beyond measure. “The Outsider is dead, you won’t find anything.” 

Khulan closes his eyes. "You mean you  _ suspect _ the Outsider is dead. You have no way of knowing, of course." 

"No, I  _ know _ -" 

"You  _ have no way of knowing _ , because you are not a heretic."

"Not anymore," Emily mutters. 

Khulan opens his eyes, expression tight. "Do you wish to rephrase yourself, Empress?" 

Emily opens her mouth, then snaps it shut again - and tiredly, nods. 

Looking as weary as she feels, Khulan leans his elbows on the desk. "Let us say," he says, "hypothetically, that I've heard heretics imprisoned in Coldridge claim that the Outsider is dead. How do they know this, and to say it with such conviction?" 

Emily is silent for a long moment. "I suppose..." she replies, slowly, "if you consider the - the tales... the Outsider never struck me as a fickle character, who takes away his gifts-  _ curses _ , after bestowing them. I suppose those who claim the Outsider is no longer the avatar of the Void are those who... felt his death." 

Khulan raises an eyebrow. 

"Perhaps," Emily adds. "I wouldn't know."

“But how to explain young Thomas?” Khulan asks, as though merely musing to himself. “He was still caught with heretical bone charms. I can’t change that.”

Emily feels something small rupture inside of her, like the first crack in a straining dam. Pulling a small silver key out of her boot, Emily unlocks the bottom drawer of her desk. She tosses a bone charm on the table between them. “Dead,” she says.

Khulan reels backwards.

She tosses another. “Dead.” She empties the drawer between them, the defunct, and silent charms in a small pile between them. “Dead.”

Khulan stares at the small pile of heretical objects and closes his eyes again, looking pained. “Emily.”

“Oh, what does it matter?” she snaps. “The magic doesn’t come from the Outsider anyway, it comes from the Void, and that exists no matter what. I’m no more a heretic than you are now, and keeping Thomas because of some false allegations -”

Khulan holds up a hand. “Clemente is  _ beyond  _ reproach,” he says, not gently. “He wouldn’t simply make up information.”

“I’m not- saying that he would,” Emily says, finally losing steam. “I’m saying that they were planted.”

“ _ Someone _ here clearly kept their old bone charms,” Khulan says, pointedly. “Why wouldn’t your Thomas?”

“Thomas is a realist,” she answers. “I’m - not.”

Khulan picks up one of the dead bone charms, turning it over in his hands. “Daud?” he asks, and she nods. “Your father?” She nods again. “Who else?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Not especially,” Khulan says. “But what was it I said before? We can’t trust anyone at their word.”

She almost smiles. “Everyone who came with me from Karnaca,” Emily answers after a long pause. “My father - he was different. When the Outsider died, we -  _ they _ \- lost all their Marks, but Corvo… kept his magic.”

Khulan drops the charm back into the pile. “Put them away, Emily.”

Slowly she re-gathers the bone charms and places them back in the drawer, locking them away and hiding the key back in her boot. “There. Hidden away.”

Khulan grimaces. “I trust that their owner, whoever that may be, will have retrieved them from this place before the next Overseer inspection.”

“Quite.”

“This conversation never happened,” Khulan reminds her, with a gentleness she didn’t think him capable of. “While we’re talking about hypothetical things,” he continues, laying his hands on her desk, “Emily, are you - alright?”

“I’m fine,” Emily says. The immediacy with which she says it, an instinct from too many months of overuse, makes her wince. 

“You don’t look - well.”

Emily opens her mouth to deny this - then sighs. “I should be hiding it better,” she murmurs. “I can’t let it show, I’m the Empress. People are looking to me.”

Khulan’s expression flashes, briefly horrified before he settles back into a more neutral expression. “You’re still human,” he says. “You deserve the same sort of care that everyone does.”

Earnest, Emily nods, raising her eyes to meet his. “Of course,” she agrees. “But no one should see me like this, Khulan. If they do, they’ll lose respect for me.”

“I…” Khulan says, shaking his head as though confused, “beg your pardon?”

Emily’s hands shake when she reaches for the carafe of water on the edge of her desk. They tremble badly enough that Khulan rescues it from her and pours her a glass. 

“I’m fine,” she says again. 

“Pardon my forwardness, Empress, but you look - thin.” 

She’s been losing weight, she knows she has, but she’s not as bad off as some of the more common folk she sees when she ventures down to the Black Pony. She  _ feels  _ thin though, in the way that bread tears when too little butter is spread over it.

“When was the last time you slept? Ate?”

“I don’t remember,” she whispers.

Khulan helps her drink the water in the glass, and the cool water slides down her throat to expand in her empty stomach, spreading the cold feeling through the center of her. All at once, Emily is more thirsty than she’s ever been in her life, and she drains the glass, pouring more.

In seconds, the carafe of water is empty, and Emily breathes hard. 

“Emily,” Khulan says. 

Her fingers are still trembling and she twines them in her lap. “I have another meeting,” she finally says. “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

Khulan takes the hint. He sits back in his seat. “Yes, Empress. It’s been an... intriguing conversation, for certain.”

“What conversation?” Emily murmurs, wry.

Khulan smiles. “Indeed.” He stands, bowing at the waist, and sweeps from the room.

Emily stands slowly, feeling shaky. She has some time before her next meeting - time alone that she’s all but aching for - and Emily steps out of her office, she nearly runs face first into Ramsey. 

“And where are we off to now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My rooms,” she snaps. “I have some time before the meeting with Havelock.”

Ramsey moves out of her way with his hands in the air, a mocking expression over his face. “Now, now,” he says, “there’s no need to be so rude. I’m only trying to keep you safe, Empress.” 

Emily growls.

He follows close at her shoulder as they get into the elevator. The whole way up, Ramsey is too near. Even when she edges away, their arms are always brushing. The elevator is claustrophobic and tense, and Emily strides to her rooms with a single-minded determination. She just wants to feel  _ clean  _ again.

When she goes into the washroom though, Ramsey shows no signs of slowing down. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Emily snaps, when he shoulders past her, and gets his foot in the door. “You’re not following me into the washroom!”

Ramsey smiles. “Now Empress, there are a lot of windows in there. You never know who might be waiting outside to attack you while you’re…” His eyes rake up and down her figure. “Defenseless.”

Emily’s heart constricts. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself,” Emily says. “You are  _ not joining me in the washroom. _ ”

Ramsey’s foot slides more firmly against the door and it brings him too close to her, his leg nearly between hers. She wants to back away, put space between them but any further into the washroom, and he’ll be in the doorway, trapping her. 

“We agreed you’d change your habits, Empress,” Ramsey chides, and he puts his arm up across the jamb. If Emily goes anywhere now, it’s back or through him. 

“Move,” she snaps, but when he just leans closer, she ducks under his arm and back out of the washroom, pivoting so her back is never to him. “I believe I will meet with Farley if he is able to see me early.”

She storms through the door, leaving Ramsey to catch up. Even when Ramsey stands too close in the elevator, Emily lets her anger fuel her, building and building like steam in a pressure pipe. Havelock’s office door is open and Emily knocks once before stepping in and all but slamming the door shut in Ramsey’s face. 

“Emily,” Havelock says, tone grave with shock and censure.

“ _ He tried to come into the washroom with me, Farley _ ,” she hisses. “All I wished to do was take a bath, and he refused to let me do so alone!”

Havelock puts down his paperwork, and pulls off his reading glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. “I see.” 

Emily sits down in front of his desk, and she can feel her face crumple as the rage drains away and leaves her hollow. Surely now, she thinks, he’ll see how much pain she’s in - surely he’ll do something, protect her from that vile -

“Emily, I must say I am extremely disappointed.”

“As am I,” Emily replies, relieved that Farley is listening to her. “Just because he’s my temporary Lord Protector doesn’t mean he -”

“I expected you take your safety seriously.”

She gapes, her words frozen in her throat. “I -”

“I hand-chose Mortimer for a reason, and that reason is to ensure your safety, but that only works if you cooperate.” Havelock is frowning, and a cold terror starts clawing at her chest. “You don’t care that I’m investing so much in your safety, do you?”

“That’s - not fair,” she chokes out. “I do. I do take it seriously, Farley.”

“Do you?” he sounds - he sounds so disappointed in her and Emily can’t breathe. The water she drank earlier threatens to make a reappearance and she swallows back sour saliva. “Mortimer has reported that you frequently disappear, likely putting yourself in terrible danger, Void knows where. I think it’s perfectly fair of me to say you don’t care about your own life, the fate of the Empire, and you certainly have no consideration for my feelings in the matter.”   
  


It’s - true, that she’s been sneaking out to sit on the roof or to go to the Black Pony. She’s been lying to him and Ramsey since the beginning. But that didn’t mean she was putting herself in danger, she’s always been safe, and what did that have to do with the fate of the Empire? Everything she’s  _ done _ for the past six months has been for the Empire.

But if she admits to that then he’ll think the last part of what he said is true, and she doesn’t want him to think she doesn’t care about his feelings because it  _ wasn’t like that _ .

“I’ve been in my rooms,” Emily says, her voice shaking and barely a whisper. “I just need the space, Farley. To bathe and relax. I’m not in any danger.”

“You’re an  _ Empress _ now,” Havelock says. “If you really cared about yourself and the Empire, and you cared about  _ me _ \- Emily, you cannot simply disappear! I have a duty of care for you and Mortimer acts as my eyes when I am not there to protect you myself.”

“I’m just in the  _ washroom _ ,” she whispers.

Havelock shakes his head, so grave and disappointed that Emily curls her fingers into fists, her mind clouded with despair. “I care about you, Emily. I expect you take your safety seriously. If not for yourself, then for  _ me _ .”

She stays silent, clenching her fists together.

Havelock sighs, looking - sad.  _ Hurt _ . “However, if you don’t wish Mortimer to keep you safe while you wash, then as your fiance the duty falls to me.”

Emily freezes. “What?”

“As your fiance, I am chiefly concerned with your health and safety, Emily. If you cannot allow Mortimer to protect you, then I implore you to allow me to do so.” Havelock reaches for her hand. “We are to be married. It’s expected that some degree of familiarity be allowed to generate between us.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t  _ want _ him in the bathroom with her - or to learn familiarity with him, or think of anything else that will come after a marriage that was only supposed to be a sham, but she can’t say it - if he calls off the engagement she’ll be at the mercy of Peverley and his ilk, and is too tired to fight them off as well.

“I know it’s difficult, my dear, but you are the Empress. Privacy is a thing of your past.”

“Fine,” she whispers. 

Havelock gazes at her, looking how she feels. “You haven’t been making it easy to trust you, Emily,” he murmurs. “But I want to. Void help me, I still do and I am the only one who does. You must know by now that in this palace, I am the  _ only one _ who cares about you. And I will continue to care for you, even if you choose to only show me disdain.”

Something in Emily snaps. 

She smiles, nods. She makes her excuses to Havelock though she can’t recall quite what, and leaves the office like she’s in a dream. 

When Ramsey attempts to follow her into her room she stops in the doorway and smiles. “Surely it would not be appropriate for you to watch me sleep,” she says, tone light and sweet, because she cares. “You may guard the door, and when Farley is done with his meetings, you may switch with him.” She closes the door in his face for the second time that day and locks it. 

She’s certain he’ll go straight to Havelock and get the Dunwall Master Key but that will take time. 

Emily changes, dressing in her Whalers clothes, pulls on the mask she hasn’t worn for a year. It still smells of Karnaca, of dust and sunshine and better days. 

Fixing it on her face, Emily climbs out the window, closing it behind her on silent hinges. She’s traversed the roof enough times that she’s quick footed and quiet, and with one last look back, Emily jumps.

*

The Black Pony is busier during the day, and Emily makes sure to hook her mask to her belt, when she steps inside. Slackjaw spots her immediately, as he always does, but the friendly smile on his face fades to something cold and angry when he sees her expression. 

“What happened?” Slackjaw bites out.

Emily swallows, and bile rushes up her throat. Samuel is there with a bucket instantly as she coughs and retches into it. His gloved hand is gentle on her back as he holds her steady, and Slackjaw barks something to the room at large.

When Emily is finished throwing up, the main room of the pub is empty except for Samuel, Pip, and Slackjaw. 

“Em?” Pip asks, his voice gone high with fear. 

“They -” Emily, shaking. “Ramsey he - and Havelock -” 

Slackjaw’s face turns murderous. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” he snarls, exploding out of his seat. 

Pip rushes to her side, dragging her into his arms, and Emily - Emily  _ breaks _ . She sobs into his narrow shoulder, holding tightly around his neck. 

He cradles her carefully, and Emily has no idea how long he stands there embracing her,. When she finally draws the strength to move away, Slackjaw is armed and angry, pacing back and forth. 

“He didn’t touch me,” she finally whispers. “But I think - I think he might have, if I didn’t leave.”

“Havelock?” Slackjaw spits.

“No. Ramsey.” 

But - maybe Havelock, too. Eventually. 

She scrubs at her face with her hands, trying to clear away the last of her tears. “Do - Do you happen to have an opening in the Bottle Street Gang?” she finally whispers.

Slackjaw puts down his pistol. “Miss Emily, do you know what you’re askin’ of ol’ Slackjaw?”

Emily nods. “My father has to be dead. Daud, too. Thomas is gone, and Rulfio - the bone charms are dying, he’s - probably a weeper now. I never wanted to be Empress, and I want to be Empress even less without my family there.” Her hands are shaking still, habit or nerves, and she clenches them into fists. “So - do you?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Slackjaw would dearly love to say yes,” he finally says. “We don’t want you back there anymore than you want to go back.” 

“But,” Pip says, still holding onto her, “if you won’t be Empress… then what do we have left?”

Emily closes her eyes. “I can’t go back there alone,” she says. “I - I can’t.”

Slackjaw finally smiles. “‘Course not! Ol’ Slackjaw wouldn’t be lettin’ a pretty thing like you roam the streets alone. An’ you, all up in that Tower by your lonesome. Seems a real shame, it does. I think Bottle Street is going to come callin’, don’t you agree, Mister Beechworth?” 

Samuel nods, a twinkle in his eye. “Oh yes, of course,” he says. “Splendid idea.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Slackjaw winks at Emily. “I have a few new recruits. One of ‘em you might recognize. Don't you worry about a thing, Miss Emily. Slackjaw has a plan.”

Emily swallows hard. “You don't have to go to so much trouble,” she says. 

Samuel pats her on the shoulder. “It's no trouble at all. Let Slackjaw take care of you.”

She nods slowly, and Samuel breaks from her side to stand by Slackjaw. “Here's how it's going to work,” he says. “You listen carefully now...”

*tbc


	14. 14. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**NOT ANYMORE** , Leviathan answers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters always go out to Dani and Lex, without whom I would have long stopped writing, but this chapter definitely goes out to Estora for cheering me on when I thought I would have to cancel today's update. As ever, thank you to everyone who has commented, sent asks or messages on tumblr, or given kudos. Your support means everything to me.
> 
> Here we go y'all. The battle for Corvo.
> 
> You can always follow me [on Tumblr ](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com) if you have any questions or just want to scream. <3

All of them are frozen in place for several too long seconds. Daud can hardly believe what he's seeing - Corvo's face twisted in his suffering, the many millions of bulging eyes staring him down. 

“Corvo?” Jessamine murmurs, and despite its quiet tone, the word echoes.

**NOT ANYMORE** , Leviathan answers.

The bulk of Leviathan rushes at him, but Daud is already moving. 

He ends up across the platform, and really, there's not enough space to play cat and mouse with Leviathan. He unholsters his pistol, takes aim, and shoots one of the bulging eyes.

The shot goes off but the bullet sinks into the darkness, and Leviathan’s laughter shakes the foundations of the Void. 

Daud cocks the pistol again, but doesn't shoot. If he can't harm Leviathan, then he's already lost but the Outsider wouldn't have set them on this path if there was no hope.

Daud steps across the platform, landing next to Jessamine. “Can you distract him?” he demands.

Jessamine’s expression turns hard. “I can try,” she says, and her figure glows an angry red. She takes two steps forward and the form she's been sporting dissolves and a crow darts out of nowhere to dive at one of the eyes.

Leviathan shrieks, the sound loud enough to echo in Daud's ears, and one of his many thousand arms whips out to claw at Jessamine.

It seems that Corvo's time as King hadn't only affected  _ him. _

Daud darts across the platform, unsheathing his sword, and when Jessamine arcs over head, Daud cuts the arm straight through the middle. Daud doesn't have his magic, but his skill at swordwork was never given to him by the Void. 

There's a split second delay, then the arm falls with a wet smack, landing on the stone in front of Daud, and dissolving with a hiss. 

Leviathan and Daud both freeze, looking at the missing arm. 

Jessamine swoops down again, and when Leviathan goes to grab her, Daud is there to cut him off at the pass.

Jessamine soars overhead and Leviathan snarls something, Corvo’s mouth twisting unnaturally around the sound.  **DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD SUCCEED?** Leviathan taunts.  **THE VOID IS MY REALM.**

Daud ignores it, taking a skipping two-step back away from the ledge of the platform they’d been caught on. 

Leviathan reaches for him, and he ducks under the swing, taking sloppy aim with his pistol. It does more damage to the arm than it did to the bulk of darkness, but Leviathan only screams and retracts the appendage, where it disappears into mass of its body. 

He has a split second to move again, shoving the pistol back into its holster; the thing is useless and he needs all his attention on the swarming arms and hands rather than on aiming. 

Jessamine lands on his shoulder.  _ When the last Leviathan is gone, the darkness will fall. _

Daud shoots a glare at her. “That is not  _ helpful _ .”

She takes off with a screech, and Daud leaps backwards as Leviathan rushes him. Daud  _ needs _ his magic to win this fight. He can fight, he won’t stop fighting, not for Corvo, not for the Outsider, but he’s too much on the defensive. He needs something to get ahead of Leviathan.

Daud not-transverses from the platform Leviathan pinned them down on to another one, close by. It’s empty, mostly, except for a floating whale oil lamp. 

Leviathan shrieks again, and the lamp gutters. 

_ From Edmund Roseburrow, Sokolov learned the power hidden inside whale oil. He harnessed it for devices that kill, and Roseburrow took his own life, _ Jessamine says, winging by.

Daud’s fingers close on the whale oil lamp. He takes a running leap, crossing the gap between platforms easily, and slams the lamp down on the stone just in front of Leviathan.

The whale oil explodes, fire gouting up from the ground, catching on Leviathan’s mass. The arms closest to the fire vanish like smoke, and the eyes bulging out of the darkness disappear one by one, popping like bubbles on water’s surface.

Relief at the cessation of their staring is short lived, as Leviathan’s many hundred mouths swirl around to coalesce into a giant, gaping, sharp toothed maw. 

“Shit,” he swears, backing away from the advancing creature. 

He needs more whale oil.

Daud looks around but he can’t see any - he’s going to have to lead Leviathan on a chase. “Jess!” he calls, and she wings down from her useless pecking at Leviathan’s arms to land on his shoulder. “I need more oil!”

Jessamine launches off his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, and follows.

He lands on a platform, but it’s bereft of whale oil. Leviathan’s howl of rage echoes behind him and Daud turns.  **THERE IS NOWHERE TO RUN, KNIFE OF DUNWALL** , it screams, destroying platforms as it follows them.

“I’m not running,” Daud murmurs. He can see another floating stone, and he steps for it, landing on a narrow strip that spins slowly in the gathering wind. 

He jumps from the stone to another one, yelping when it tips under his weight and he starts sliding as it turns vertically in the air. He can’t control the skid, there’s nothing to grab or use to slow himself down, so Daud launches himself off the rock and grabs another, hauling himself up. 

He turns, and finds himself face to face with Corvo’s twisted expression. His silver eye, still human and his, blinks once. Daud had thought the glassy expression in them was fugue or vacancy, but tears escape from the corner of Corvo’s eye, dripping down his haggard face.

Daud’s breath catches sharply in his chest. Corvo is  _ aware _ , and that - that changes everything.

He flees, half stepping, half using the inconsistent magic of the Void, and Jessamine screams his name, echoing across the waste of the Void.

Whirling, he pinpoints her location, and with absolute trust, not-transverses blindly.

He lands hard on stone, and scoops up the whale oil lantern Jessamine is perched on. Leviathan’s bellow shakes the foundations of the Void, and the floating debris begins to fall. The stone he’s standing on is too large, so it only shakes instead of falling, but Daud is given no time to plan when Leviathan crashes into it.

The gaping maw is bearing down on him and Daud has nowhere to run, nowhere to transverse to. 

Jessamine leaps off his shoulder.

“ _ Jess _ !” 

She disappears into Leviathan’s gullet, her red light extinguished.

Daud freezes, but so does Leviathan.

He can practically hear Jessamine’s admonishment for wasting time, and Daud flings the whale oil lamp into Leviathan’s gnashing teeth after her. 

The teeth close on it, breaking the glass, and the explosion takes Daud off his feet. He slams into the stone, something in his chest snapping.

Parts of Leviathan are dropping off like smoke, the mouth shrinking and breaking apart into a hundred screaming, lipless pieces. 

Daud scrambles to his feet, his ribs definitely grinding painfully together. He bounds across the stone, reaching out - and grabs Corvo’s arm. He pulls, linking his fingers with Corvo’s, and feeling the way they contract, tightening around Daud’s hand. 

He has to struggle, digging his boots into the stone, straining against the power of Leviathan. Jessamine’s words echo back to him, that the Void wanted to be heard, and Daud has enough belief for both of them.

Corvo comes free. 

He falls into Daud’s arms, black draining from him in streams, and Daud drags him back, away from the inky, clinging goo. “Corvo?” he demands.

Corvo blinks, looking up at Daud, his hair wet, and plastered to his forehead. One of his eyes is still silver-blue, but the other, the one that had been Outsider-black, is a warm, amber brown. 

“Hey,” Corvo murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You came.”

“Of  _ course _ I came.”

Corvo is freezing when he wraps his arms around Daud, but Daud doesn’t care even a little. He holds Corvo close, surprised when the embrace only lasts a few seconds. “I have something I still need to do,” Corvo says, pressing a kiss to Daud’s temple.

Daud doesn’t protest when Corvo pulls away, Void-teal light starting to gather around Corvo’s body. He doesn’t protest when Corvo advances on the roiling mass of Leviathan. He doesn’t protest when Corvo reaches out and catches two of the remaining arms, their twenty fingered hands curling around his, pale skin to absolute black. 

“Come back,” Corvo says, his voice almost lost on the wind. “It’s over now.” 

He pulls one of the arms closer, and presses a gentle kiss onto the back of it.

Daud has seen that move before; it’s the exact one that the Outsider bestowed on Corvo six years ago, when he’d been given the Mark.

The wind stops, mid-gale, as though it had never been. The black and grey clouds ebb away, leaving the old-familiar blue of the endless Void. The ocean at the bottom of the world drains away, the darkness disappearing with each flow of the tide. 

Leviathan though, shudders and shakes, pieces dropping away, arms fading to nothing, eyes closing, mouths sealing shut.  **CORVO?** It asks once.

“I’m here, old friend,” Corvo says,  and Leviathan shrinks, twisting and curling in on itself, darkness disappearing, leaving Corvo holding a vaguely humanoid figure. “It’s  _ over _ .” 

The black goo that had made up Leviathan streams away from them, clearing off the platform. 

And the Outsider falls into Corvo’s arms. 

He’s smaller than Daud remembers, frail and narrow. He moves closer, kneeling by Corvo’s side. When the Outsider looks up, his eyes are the same color as the sky. 

He looks - young. 

Daud stares. “You’re human.”

“Well spotted,” the Outsider says in tones of familiar vitriol. 

The Outsider only permits to Corvo’s embrace for another second or two before he shakes himself free, standing on the edge of the platform, looking out into the Void. He inhales deeply, and when he exhales, he turns back to face them. “It’s not often I find myself in the position of owing someone thanks,” he says. “You risked everything to come here.”

Corvo shrugs, standing to join him on the ledge. “We can call it even.” They’re silent for a long while, before Corvo says slowly, “Outsider, if you’re human…”

“I have to go back,” the Outsider interrupts. 

“No you don’t,” Daud and Corvo say together. Corvo gives Daud a warm look over his shoulder, and feeling every inch of his broken ribs, Daud climbs to his feet to stand on the Outsider’s other side.

The Outsider’s smile is fleeting. “If not me, then one of you.”

Corvo swallows. “We can find another way out of the Void. You can come with us, you don’t have to stay here.”

“You will die here,” the Outsider says, not looking at either of them. “You will starve slowly until you fade away and there will be nothing I can do to stop that.” He shakes his head. “I was born only to die, my Corvo.”

“You can’t ask me to do this.”

The Outsider turns to him, ocean-blue eyes sad. “I’m not asking. I would -”

He breaks off. His expression is - pinched. Pained.

“Going back with you is a dream, my Corvo,” the Outsider finally says. “But it’s one even I cannot achieve. At least this time, it’s my choice.” 

He gives Corvo one last long look, then turns his eyes on Daud. 

“Outsider,” Daud murmurs. 

The Outsider nods, answering all of Daud’s unasked questions. He closes his human eyes, and steps back off the ledge.

“ _ No! _ ” 

Corvo reaches - and misses.

The Outsider falls.

The darkness descends, swarming around their platform and Daud yanks Corvo back from the ledge. Wind and whalesong scream through the air, and Corvo ducks his head, holding tightly to Daud. 

When the storm is over, the Outsider stands in front of them again, this time, floating several inches off the ground, darkness coiling around him. “Now,” he says, and his voice echoes. “There’s something I’ve been very remiss in returning to you.”

He lifts his hand, and magic  _ burns _ across Daud’s skin. The Outsider’s Mark spreads across his left hand and the feeling of relief almost sends him to his knees. He’d spent so many years hating the Outsider, and using the magic grudgingly. 

This last year without it has given him a new appreciation for his powers. 

Corvo looks down at his left hand, and clenches it, letting the magic flare. Blue light flashes, and a crow - Jessamine - appears out of the nothingness of the Void, winging down to sit on Corvo’s shoulder.

_ Is it a curse or a blessing, to linger past your time in the world _ ? She says, and her Void-purple eye fixes on Daud. 

Corvo startles, as does Daud - he’d never heard her before his stint in the Void, he’s not sure why he can hear her now. “Jess,” Corvo murmurs.

Daud clears his throat. “She - asked me to pass you a message.” 

“What?” Corvo asks, and the pain in his expression makes Daud falter.

“She asked you to let her go.”

Corvo’s lips part. “Jess,” he repeats, stroking a hand along her feathers. 

_ I am tired. How long, my dearest? How long am I meant to endure this shadow state _ ? 

Jessamine flits off Corvo’s shoulder, but when she lands on the ground, she’s human again, filled with blue light. “Sometimes,” she says, “I remember the breeze on my skin, and your touch.”

Corvo chokes.

Jessamine looks up at them. “Corvo, let me go.”

Corvo breaks away from Daud’s side to go to her, and Daud braces himself for the terrifying view of Jessamine’s fingers bisecting Corvo’s, only to watch their fingers twine as normal. 

“Jess,” he whispers. She pulls him in for a gentle kiss, and Daud looks away. “How can I do this without you?”

Jessamine laughs quietly. “You  _ have  _ been, my love. You have our Emily, and you have Daud, you’re not alone anymore. Let me go.”

Corvo’s expression crumples. “The one thing I couldn’t deny you if I wanted,” he murmurs.

“I’ve given you all I can, my love,” Jessamine says. “Now our daughter needs you.”

Their fingers untangle, and Corvo swallows. “Be at peace, my Empress, the star of my sky.”

She looks up at the Outsider who nods. He offers her his hand, and lifts her to her feet, and Jessamine turns back to Corvo. 

“Corvo,” she breathes.  “With my last thought, I love you.”

The wind picks up, and Jessamine’s light dissipates on the breeze, scattering over the Void.

Corvo’s shoulders curve inward. “... I love you too,” he says to the empty space she once stood in. 

Silence reigns on the platform, the Outsider watching Corvo and Corvo looking out over the Void. Daud hesitates for long minutes before dropping his hand on Corvo’s shoulder, squeezing once. 

That breaks the tableau, and Corvo looks up at him. “Thank you.” 

Daud nods once. “You’re welcome.”

Rising to his feet, Corvo laces their fingers together, and asks, “How long have we been gone?”

The Outsider pauses. “Six months,” he responds after a beat. 

“ _ Six months _ ?” Corvo demands, and Daud’s fingers go tight around his. He knows they’re both thinking of Emily, left alone in the viper’s den with few friends to lean on. Six months is forever, and far longer than either of them had imagined. 

“We need to go,” Daud says. “Emily…”

“The Empress is fine,” the Outsider says, his head tilted to the side. “The next few days will do much to shape the future of her rule, and your arrival will only change things for the better.” His lips quirk up in a small smile. “Come find me.”

He vanishes.

Daud sighs. “I didn’t miss that.”

“Ready?” Corvo asks, some of the sadness chased away by his amusement at Daud. 

“More than,” Daud agrees, and transverses away. 

They chase signs of the Outsider for more than ten minutes, before finding a shrine with two runes sitting on it. The runes sing, far louder than Daud has ever heard them make noise before, and the Outsider appears just to the left of it. “I trust you didn’t forget how to use your Marks,” the Outsider drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.

Daud rolls his eyes. “We’ve had them longer than we hadn’t,” he says. 

Corvo picks up one of the runes, tossing it to Daud. “You  _ can  _ send us back, right?” Corvo prompts. 

“I can,” the Outsider says. “Turn around.”

Together they turn around, and a familiar portal opens on the edge of the platform. Corvo pauses, just a little, looking back at the Outsider. “You’ll be alright?” he checks.

The Outsider inclines his head. “I will be just fine,” he answers. “Go home, my Corvo.” 

Slowly, Corvo reaches out for the portal, fingers tangling with Daud's. The world jerks sideways and Daud has a split second to look down, before they hit the water.

He flails, letting go of Corvo’s hand reflexively, trying to find the surface. Salt water stings his eyes, and Daud swims toward the light. He breaks through to air, gasping. “Corvo?” he calls.

“I’m here,” Corvo replies, a few yards away. They meet halfway in the middle, but Daud knows enough to only stay close by, treading water, instead of grabbing for Corvo.

They’re in the fucking ocean. 

“Damnit, you black-eyed-bastard,” Daud snarls, spitting ocean water out of his mouth when a particularly rough wave hits them. 

“I don’t see anything,” Corvo says, and the Mark on his hand flares. “There’s no land around that I can tell.”

The moon is bright enough that Daud can see for miles all around. The Outsider dropped them into the middle of nowhere. There’s mist to their left, and Daud squints as he sees movement through it. “Corvo, stop moving,” he says. 

Corvo turns to follow his gaze, his eyes rolling over bright silver instead of amber. “There’s a boat,” he murmurs. “Someone is on it.”

The mist parts, and the Amaranth cuts through the water, drawing up alongside them. “Heard you were in a bind, Lord Corvo,” Samuel Beechworth says with a grin. “Need a ride?”

Corvo laughs in relief, and transverses onto the boat, Daud following a split second after him. “How did you know?” Daud asks, sitting heavily. 

“A little birdie told me,” Samuel answers, and a crow flits across the sky to land on the engine. It’s Void-purple eye fixing on them. 

Corvo makes a quiet sound to that. “Jessamine’s gone,” he says. “Who are you?” The Crow cackles, the sound echoing over the water and Corvo’s face softens into something sad. “ _ Oh _ … hello Sabina.”

Samuel touches Corvo’s shoulders. “I don’t mean to be rushing you, Lord Corvo,” he says with some urgency. “But you’re right needed at the Tower. Things haven’t been well in your absence, and Emily’s in trouble.”

Daud’s limbs go cold in a way that has nothing to do with the water. “Take us there,” he barks.

The Amaranth’s engine is loud across the water, as Samuel turns her nose towards home. 

Daud can only hope they aren’t too late.

*


	15. 15. EMILY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She just has to wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for my beloved Dani, Lex, and Aeniala (hope your internet gets better, love), and as always a huge thank to you Es, for all your help in cleaning up these chapters. I don't know what I would do without any of you. <3
> 
> This is it, y'all. The chapter you've all been waiting for.
> 
> As ever, I can be found on [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/) for all your needs. I follow back and love conversation.

The door to her bedroom bursts open moments after she'd only just managed to change. She’s already standing when Havelock and Ramsey enter, and she’s ready for what comes. She just has to hold out until -

“Emily,” Havelock says, his voice grave with disappointment. 

“Farley,” she greets, and refuses to sit on her bed even as he looks over at it with an expectant expression. “What exactly is the meaning of this?” 

A faint flicker of anger skates over his expression; obvious now that she’s looking for it. “We just spoke about your safety, Emily,” he says, and the disappointment in his voice makes her chest hurt.

She just has to hold out.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I informed you that I’d choose you, should the need arise.” 

Havelock looks over at where Ramsey stands in her doorway. “You did,” he says, frowning. “I was unaware that you required my presence.”

Emily summons up a smile from somewhere. “That’s why I asked Lord Ramsey to get you. Which he has done, thank you, Lord Ramsey.”

She’s such a  _ liar _ , Havelock has to know. He has to suspect that she’s gone and left the tower and betrayed him,  _ again _ . Emily crosses her arms over her chest to hide the way her hands still shake. 

She just has to wait until Slackjaw can get inside.

“I see,” Havelock finally says. 

Emily tilts her head toward the bathroom door. “I understand the need for safety,” she says, and hopes her voice doesn’t give her away. “Perhaps, when I need to use the facilities, you’ll agree to stay in here, with the door cracked open, so you may be able to come if I require aid?”

Havelock follows her gaze to the door. “For short uses of the facilities only, yes.” He looks back at her. “I’m pleased you’re taking me seriously, Emily.”

The guilt clenching her chest alleviates, just a fraction - then crashes back harder and worse than ever when she remembers she’s lying, she’s  _ lying _ , but she can’t come clean now. “I thought about what you said,” Emily says. “I never wanted to hurt you, Farley. You were right.”

The words taste like acid in her throat.

Havelock’s expression finally relaxes. “I’m glad to hear it, my dear,” he says, and he steps closer to lay his hand on her shoulder. “Things will improve, and in a year, all this will be behind us.”

Emily nods, and tries not to stiffen at his touch. “I trust you,” she says. 

For the second time, her door flies open. 

“L-Lord Havelock,” a guard she doesn’t recognize says, stepping past Ramsey. “We have guests, in the main hall.”

“Guests?” 

“Mister uh, Mister Slackjaw? From the Bottle Street Boys… he’s… here?” 

Havelock pulls away from Emily. She barely restrains a heaving sigh of relief. 

“ _ Slackjaw _ ?” Havelock says.

“He was given an official pardon for his efforts in ousting Delilah,” Emily says before he can order Slackjaw away. “We should speak to him, Farley.”

Havelock looks distinctly sour at the idea. “He is a common thug,” he tells her. “It would be best not to.”

Emily steps around him. “There could be trouble,” she says, injecting all her worry and anxiety into it. “What if he’s come to warn us?”

“He did seem very anxious, Empress,” the guard says helpfully, and she nods to him. 

“We’ll go at once, of course,” she says, and falls into step with the guard, Ramsey only a beat behind her. 

It’s a short jaunt from her rooms to the main hall, and with the guard  _ and _ Havelock in the elevator with her, Ramsey keeps a respectful distance away. 

There’s a medium-sized group of people in the lobby, with Slackjaw at the head. Pip’s there, just behind him, as is Rinaldo - he must have joined them before she got downstairs - and three thugs who are easily double her size. Next to Slackjaw though, is a tall, stocky woman, black Morlish, dressed in Slackjaw’s colors. 

“Daria!” Emily gasps, and Daria grins.

“Empress,” she says, and darts across the floor to hug Emily tightly.

Every guard unholsters their guns, but Emily wraps her arms around Daria and leans into her. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” Emily murmurs. 

Slackjaw swaggers up to her. There’s no other word for the predatory way he’s moving. She can tell he’s still angry from earlier, and he takes up a position at her back. 

“Mister Slackjaw,” Havelock says, recovering from his surprise. “What brings you to the Tower?”

Slackjaw smiles, his grin containing too many teeth to be friendly. “Well now,” he drawls, dropping a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “It’s been too long since the young Empress has come to visit ol’ Slackjaw, it has. I been worried about it, right and sure I was. Thought it were high time to come visitin’.”

Havelock’s expression turns cold and angry. It makes a shiver of fear go down Emily’s spine. “I see,” he says. “Do you have  _ legitimate _ business?”

Emily is glad Slackjaw is leading the conversation because the tone in Havelock’s voice makes her stomach twist and quail. “Of course, of course - I’m makin’ my intentions known, that soon as the Cure frees the Distillery back up, me ‘n me partner are going to open up Bottle Street again, start producing real ale and whiskey.” 

“A businessman named Slackjaw?” Ramsey asks, snorting in derision. “Surely you jest.”

But Slackjaw only waves that away. “That’s hardly Slackjaw’s name,” he says, and his tone is so condescending that Emily has to bite the inside of her cheek to not smile. “You can call me Mister Fillmore.”

Emily glances at him, surprised. “Fillmore?” 

He grins down at her, this expression much softer. “‘Course. Weren’t born with the name Slackjaw, did you think I was?”

“Well, no,” Emily says, doubtfully. “But you’ve known Corvo for years, I assumed…”

His grin widens. “Azariah Fillmore, at your service,” he says, with a bow. 

“Welcome to the Tower, Azariah,” Emily responds, smiling up at him. “I’m pleased you decided to visit us.”

“In truth, I’ve come lay myself ‘gainst your good graces, Empress,” Slackjaw says. “The weeper problem has left us without home, and we’ve been makin’ do but with the cold comin’ in, I’ve got women and some kids who need homes.”

Emily blinks. It sounds plausible, but she knows for a fact that Slackjaw has been staying at the Black Pony just down the street. “Of course they may stay with us until the Plague has been cured,” she says. 

Havelock clears his throat. “Emily, perhaps you ought to  _ discuss this _ with me, before agreeing?”

“But I know we’d be in agreement, Farley,” Emily says, her heart hammering in her chest. “Sl- Mister Fillmore is our ally, I personally owe him my life, and so do many of the men here. I can’t in good conscience turn them away.” 

Daria smiles at her, looping her arm around Emily’s. 

“And Daria of course, she was a very good friend and confessor to me, when she was here before. When we were in Whitecliff, she helped shelter us. I can only do the same.”

A muscle in Havelock’s jaw twitched. “Of course, Empress.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Overseer Clemente,” Daria says quietly. “Perhaps Empress Emily can escort me?”

“I will have to go with you, of course,” Ramsey jumps in, sidling up to Emily. “I am Lord Ramsey, her Royal Protector.”

Daria stares at him for a second before nodding. “Of course, Ramsey.”

Emily turns to Slackjaw, still smiling. It’s the most she’s done that in months. “I’m pleased to see you. Please see the Master of the House for your quarters.” She gestures to Callista where she stands off to one side. “She will get you settled, I trust her implicitly.

That makes Callista’s eyebrow arch; Emily has barely paid her any mind for weeks, if not months, too busy with the daily grind of ruling to go to lessons, or see the people she’d once been close to.

“Ah, Ms. Curnow, of course,” Slackjaw greets. “We’ll talk, you and I.” 

Havelock turns his gaze to Emily. “We will speak later,” he says. 

The undertone in his voice makes it clear that this is not a request.

Emily swallows hard. “Of course, Farley,” she murmurs, and her smile disappears entirely.

Slackjaw’s face goes tense again. “We’re really only missin’ me partner, of course,” he adds to Emily. “Samuel Beechworth?” 

Havelock’s mask cracks at that, and he frowns. “Samuel?” he repeats. “From the Hound Pits?” 

“I see you remember him,” Slackjaw drawls. “He’s been  _ very  _ accommodating.”

Emily decidedly does not want to know what he means by that. “Samuel is always welcome,” she adds. “He was a very good friend to my father and I when we were living in the Hound Pits.”

Slackjaw grins. “Glad am I to hear it, Slackjaw is.” He lets go of her shoulder. “Ms. Curnow, lovely to see you, which way shall we proceed?”

Emily turns to Havelock. “I’ll bring Daria to Overseer Clemente,” she says, “are you coming, Lord Ramsey?”

The Emily of a few hours ago might have waited for a verbal response, or for Ramsey to catch up to her. The Emily now, she turns away still holding onto Daria’s arm, and makes for the stairs without waiting. 

Ramsey’s muffled oath is clear to her, and it takes him a moment or two to catch up to them. “You should run off like that, Empress,” he says, sounding very much like Havelock.

“I hardly ran off,” she responded. “I’m with Daria, who was an Overseer. Her moral ambiguity cannot possibly be in question. You were twenty feet behind us, Ramsey,  _ really _ .”

“Twenty feet is enough time for an assassin to kill you, Empress,” Ramsey says through gritted teeth.

She shoots him a look over her shoulder. “Not for my  _ father _ ,” she drawls. “He could stop an assassination in less.”

Ramsey’s face turns purple. “He isn’t  _ here _ now, Empress.” 

“For now.”

They get into the elevator, Daria still close by, forcing Ramsey to remain several feet away from her. 

Clemente spends most of his time in the wing that houses Billie and Aurelia, the witches who had turned against Delilah. Sokolov had hooked them up to strange apparatuses, ostensibly to keep them alive as their bodies grew used to a lack of magic. 

Though it had been over six months, Clemente - and Emily, to be honest - had wondered what sort of trouble the two witches would be when they finally woke up. Emily only barely remembers Billie from her time in Rudshore. After that first night when Emily had cried herself to sleep in Billie’s bed, she’d seen little of the other woman. 

When Billie hadn’t joined them on the boat to Serkonos, Emily had been more baffled than hurt. 

Clemente is sitting in a chair by Aurelia’s bed, reading her one of the seven scriptures books, when they come through the door. He looks up when they come through the door and smiles. Emily can’t bring herself to smile back; he’s the reason Thomas is gone, after all.

Daria pulls Emily over to them. “Clemente,” she greets.

Clemente reaches out and puts his big hand on Daria’s shoulder. “Darnell- Daria. I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to reach you since you left the Tower. I’ve needed to apologize since that day.”

Daria shook her head. “No, I’m glad you didn’t intervene. If you had, we both would have been out on the street.”

If he had, Thomas would still be her Royal Protector. 

Ramsey loiters by the door, looking like he’d prefer to be anywhere else. Emily sits down by Billie’s bedside, joining Daria and Clemente.

She tunes out their apologies and conversation, instead looking down at Billie. Her skin is clearer than the last time Emily had seen her. The streaks of soot black magic have gone, and the thorns that had decorated her arms had fallen off or disappeared entirely, leaving her arms clear. 

She’s pale, from lack of sunlight, and possibly her magic, but she looks almost normal like she did six years ago when Emily had been at Rudshore.

In the next bed over, Aurelia looks the same, though her bone charm earrings no longer glow a soft blue. They, like Emily’s charms and runes, are just as dead as the rest.

Emily looks back over at Billie, and jerks, nearly falling out of the chair. 

“Emily?” Billie asks as their eyes meet.

Billie tries to sit up as Emily scrambles off the edge of the bed, and she turns to see Aurelia rubbing her eyes, looking confused. 

The witches are awake.

*

“Well,” Sokolov says to Emily, after a long two hours of poking and prodding Aurelia and Billie. “They don’t remember a single thing about their time unconscious.”

Emily lifts an eyebrow. “Anton, they were  _ unconscious _ .”

“Yes, but, it was  _ magically induced _ .” Sokolov looks extremely displeased, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hoped one of them would remember being in the  _ Void _ .”

“Maybe they weren’t in the Void,” Emily points out, shaking her head. “It’s possible they were just… in a coma, isn’t it?”

“ _ A magically induced coma _ ,” Sokolov says again. “It was not an empty hope, Empress.”

Emily can only shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, Anton.”

“No, I know, Emily, you’re not a philosopher, and you’re not a heretic.” Sokolov ignores the way she lifts a brow at that, and he turns back toward the room where Billie is holding Aurelia. “Give them some time,” he decides, clearly speaking to himself. 

Emily backs away before he can work himself into a lather over their lack of memories, and goes to where Daria stands. 

Daria looks over Emily’s shoulder, and scowls; Ramsey has been trailing her and it’s clear Daria doesn’t like it or him. Emily leans closer when Daria murmurs her name, and she says, very quietly, “Can we retire to your rooms? There’s something we must speak about.”

Emily nods. “Let’s go to my quarters,” Emily says, loud enough to be heard. “We’ll take supper there.”

Ramsey makes a noise of complaint. “I’m sure Lord Havelock would like to speak to you, Empress,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

Anxiety curdles in her gut. 

“Perhaps,” she says. “It's late, however, and I'm hungry. I will speak to Farley in the morning.” Ramsey stepped in front of her. 

“You will speak to Lord Havelock now,” he says and Emily - freezes.

The sound of a sword being drawn breaks their tableau, and Emily flicks a look over at Daria. “That sounded like an order,” Daria says without a trace of the fear that used to cling to her. “Or a threat.”

Ramsey only looks annoyed rather than concerned, and he says again, “Lord Havelock is your fiance, Empress. You would do well to heed him.”

Emily might throw up. She can't disobey a direct order from Havelock and still keep his trust. If she follows Daria, she’ll just delay the inevitable - whatever Havelock has to say to her will be even worse and Emily can’t avoid him forever. It's Ramsey’s fault he's being like this, really. She - She can see him before dinner.

Her fingers close around Daria’s wrist when Slackjaw comes up the stairs his pistol in one hand and a bottle of brew in the other. “The Lady said no,” Slackjaw drawls. 

Ramsey starts to look nervous. “There's no need for any of that,” he says, shaking his head. “I'm her Lord Protector, I'm only looking out for her.”

“Are you?” Emily snaps. “I feel more like I need to protect myself  _ from  _ you!”

Saying so is  _ liberating _ , and something unlocks in Emily’s chest. She  _ hates _ Ramsey. She hates his sly words, hates his eyes on her, hates the way he makes her feel like a piece of meat.

Ramsey’s eyes narrow, and Emily can see the exact moment he stops caring about their audience. His hand goes for his sword.

Emily tenses, the same moment pain burns across her left hand.

She hisses, jerking it up to her chest to see - did Ramsey shoot her? - and stops, staring.

The Outsider’s Mark.

“Daud?” she murmurs, and her second of inattention is all Ramsey needs. 

He rips her away from Daria’s side, and Emily cries out as the sword comes up under her chin. He holds her tight to his body, and her skin crawls at the way he touches her. “Now,” Ramsey says, dragging her even closer to his body, his hands across her breasts. “I believe I said she was going to see Lord Havelock.” Ramsey chuckles, his mouth pressed up against her ear. “Is your aim good enough to hit me and not her,  _ Mister Fillmore _ ?” 

Emily has never tried to transverse away from someone who’s touching her. She’s afraid he’ll come with her, and she  _ wants his hands off her _ . “Let me go!” she shouts, and slams her boot heel into his foot. The sword at her throat moves just far enough away that she shoves it away. 

With no regard for the Abbey at all, Emily clenches her fist - 

“Just what is going  _ on here _ ?” 

The voice makes everyone turn toward the stairs where Slackjaw is still standing, and Emily gasps, tears filling her eyes. 

“Father!” She shoves away from Ramsey who has gone slack with surprise, and bolts around the landing to where he and Daud stand. 

She halts just in front of Corvo - Empresses aren’t supposed to show weakness, how many times did Daud have to tell her? - but Corvo drags her into a hug as soon as she’s within reach. 

“Emily!” Daria shouts, and there’s the sound of displaced air as Daud disappears from her side. Someone fires a pistol, loud in the hall, Emily flinches violently against Corvo. 

She doesn’t want to turn around. What if it hit Daud? Did she lose him? She only just got him back. She looks down at her left hand, her mind numb and expecting the worst - and finds the Mark still stark and black against her skin. 

Corvo covers it with one of his, gently turning her around.

Slackjaw’s pistol is pointed at the floor, the barrel clear of smoke. 

Daria is looking at Emily, her eyes wide and shocked, but Emily can’t look at her. She can only look at Daud.

He’s in front of Ramsey, red dripping down to splash against the marble tiles of the floor. “Daud,” she whispers, and he twitches. Daud backs away slowly, his sword sliding out from Ramsey’s belly, red spilling across Ramsey’s white shirt. The smoking pistol in Ramsey’s hand falls to the ground before he does. 

Daud wipes his blade on Ramsey’s Protector coat. 

Corvo looks him over, unimpressed. “That man,” he says mildly, “is wearing my jacket.”

“I think you’ll find that the jacket’s mine,” Daud mutters, stepping over Ramsey’s corpse to enfold Emily in a hug. “I guess we arrived just in time.”

Emily bursts into tears.

Corvo wraps her back up in a hug. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

She shakes her head, tucking herself under his chin. She should  _ stop _ , this isn’t dignified, everyone will be able to see how weak she’s being - Havelock will be so  _ disappointed _ .

“Emily,” Daud says, “ _ why  _ was that man wearing my jacket?”

She scrubs at her face. “He is - was my Royal Protector.”

Corvo’s face does something complicated. “And… where is Thomas?”

Slackjaw steps closer. “This is a conversation best had elsewhere, friends,” he murmurs. “Call the guard and  _ hide your hands _ , and you can ask ‘n answer all the questions y’like.” 

Daud nods. “He’s right. Corvo, take Emily upstairs, I’ll deal with this.”

Corvo nods, wrapping an arm around her. “Come on, Em. You can fill me in once we get to your rooms.”

“But Farley…” she finds herself saying, out of habit. She needs to tell him, he  _ needs to know _ , she can’t bear the idea of facing the brunt of his disappointment but she doesn’t  _ want _ him to know, she never wants to see him again but she can’t  _ not _ . He’s part of her life now and he’ll find out soon that she plotted without him when all he wanted to do was keep her safe. 

“Havelock will understand,” Corvo soothes her, and for the first time Emily realizes: no. He won’t.

*


	16. 16. DAUD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He sheaths his sword, and turned to Slackjaw. “What’s the situation?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well y'all.... this is it. The final chapter to Song Inside the Bone. Thank you, all of you so much for being here with me, every step of the way. I appreciate your support more than I can say. 
> 
> This is for all of you.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://missdreawrites.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [In which we earn our rating.]

Once Corvo has taken Emily away, he can turn to the assembled people and deal with the kill on his hands later. He’d told Emily once long ago that anyone who hurt her was fair game, and stands by it now. But the feel of sticky, drying blood on his hands reminds him of worse days, and he’s not sure he can face Corvo with red hands again.

He sheaths his sword, and turned to Slackjaw. “What’s the situation?” 

Slackjaw’s mouth twists. “Way our girl tells it, she’s been losin’ allies by the day. Young Thomas was taken to Holger Square on account of heresy, Esma Boyle was replaced by Ichabod. The rest of us were sloughed away one, by one, by one.”

Daud’s alarm increases with each word, his concern for Thomas outweighing the rest. He tunes Slackjaw out, focusing on the Mark, reaching for his connection to his former second. His connection with Thomas had always been his strongest, especially once Billie had abandoned them.

_ Thomas _ , he calls, and hits - nothing.

The connection on his end is strong and fresh, but when the magic reaches out to cement the bond, there is just emptiness. 

That means two things; one, Thomas is in a room with a music box, and the magic has no ability to reach him, or two, Thomas is dead.

Daud can’t reconcile the second option.

“Alright,” he says, cutting off Slackjaw’s flow of words. “Get Havelock, if he’s the one that Emily’s been putting her trust in. He can deal with his lackey until we get back downstairs. Stick around.”

Slackjaw nods. “We’re stayin’ here for a time,” he drawls. “Bottle Street ain’t what it used to be.”

Bottle Street makes him think of Rulfio, yet another one of his lost, abandoned whalers. “Good.” 

He transverses away, whistling once, sharply. The Crow appears out of the nothing in the corner he’d moved to. “Get to Holger Square,” he tells Sabina. “Bring back a report to Corvo.”

With a flare of violet magic, the Crow disappears again. 

Daud makes his way up the Tower to the royal wing, stepping out of the Void to knock on Emily’s bedroom door. She flings it open, then falls into his arms. 

“You’re back,” she whispers, her face tear stained.

Daud maneuvers them back into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Corvo is sitting by one of the open windows, and there’s a row of crows on the roof just behind him. “Feels good to have them back,” he says, and he turns to face Emily with a small smile. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

That seems to remind her of how long it’s been and she shoves away from him. “It’s been  _ six months _ ,” she shouts. “Do you  _ know _ what I’ve been through? What we’ve been enduring?!”

“I know,” Daud says, “it wasn’t the plan, and I’m sorry.  _ We’re  _ sorry.”

Emily shoves him, turning away, scrubbing at her face. “Everyone is  _ gone _ .”

Corvo stands from his place at the window. “We can get them back.”

“How can you even know that?” Emily demands. “You’ve been gone, you have no idea where anyone is, or what’s happened to them!”

“That’s true,” Corvo allows. “I’ve been gone, and Daud’s right, I’m sorry for it.” He tilts his head toward the window and the chorus of crows makes itself known. “Esma is fine, though annoyed at being confined to her Manor.”

That seems to satisfy Emily who relaxes, if only marginally. “And Thomas?”

Corvo hesitates before shaking his head. “As soon as Sabina gets back, I’ll know more,” he says. 

“Sabina?” Emily asks. “What happened to - What happened to mom?”

“I - She asked me to let her go,” Corvo says, and he gathers Emily up into a tight hug. Emily stiffens first, and Daud wonders to himself when Emily had started to become  _ him _ . “She was tired of lingering past her time, and she asked me to - let her go.”

Emily leans into Corvo. “Is she happy now?”

“I’d like to think so,” Corvo says, and meets Daud’s eyes over her head. “Jessamine and - We came to an understanding. She loved you very much, and we’ll both see her again someday.”

Daud hates to be the one to break up the moment, but - “What happened with Ramsey?” he asks, sitting on the edge of her bed. 

Emily - flinches. 

The crumbled, frightened look on her face makes Daud wish he’d killed the man slower. “He didn’t hurt me,” she finally whispers in a small voice, entirely unlike her normal tones. “But - he would have, I think. He tried to go into the washroom with me, to watch me bathe. And he never wanted me to close my door, so I couldn’t change or use the facilities, or - and I went to Farley, and Farley s- said -” She cuts herself off, and blinks back tears. 

“What did Farley say?” Corvo urges gently. 

She licks her lips. “Farley said if I didn’t want Ramsey then - it had to be him.”

“ _ What _ ,” Daud barks. 

Emily turns to face him, and the fear on her face is familiar enough that Daud reigns back his temper. “We’re to be married,” Emily says, like that isn’t the most horrifying thing she could have said. “So he said if I didn’t want Ramsey in with me, then it had to be him. We’re engaged anyway, we’ll need to be familiar with each other sooner or later.”

Corvo’s expression turns dark. “Emily, you’re just seventeen, and I’m still your father, Empress or not. I forbid it, you are  _ not _ marrying Farley Havelock.”

Daud expects there to be a fight, honestly. Emily is stubborn and she’d only gotten worse in her time with him in Karnaca. Once she sets her mind on something, she chases it. This time, though, Emily almost collapses, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

“I have to,” she says between her heaving, shuddering breaths. “He already doesn't trust me, I've _hurt him_ , I need to show him - I - he needs to know -  _ Father I have to _ .”

The dark expression in Corvo’s eyes only deepens. “What was the reason you were marrying him in the first place?”

Emily sniffles, wiping her eyes to look up at him. “It - It was because you and Daud were gone, and Peverly, Ambrose and the others in the Council were getting ideas about my - eligibility.”

Corvo crouches next to her, drying her cheeks with a scrap of his sleeve. “Emily, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “ _ We’re back now _ .”

Emily stares at him. 

“You don’t have to marry him,” Daud says. “We’re here, and the members of the Council who were expecting you to be eligible simply because we were no longer there, we’ll deal with them.”

Corvo nods, holding her close to him. “You don’t have to marry Farley Havelock.” 

Daud approaches them slowly, laying a hand on her back. “Do you want us to get rid of him?” She stiffens and he amends, “Not kill him, Em. Just get him out of the Tower.”

Very slowly, Emily lifts her head to look up at them. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I - Yes.”

*

Watching Corvo evict Havelock from the Tower is a pleasure. 

“You cannot strip me of my title,” Havelock blusters, clearly alarmed and failing to hide it. “I’m your daughter’s fiance!”

“I think,” Corvo says, every inch the Crow King in full regalia, “that you’ll find that I can. Emily is underage, and while she’s fully capable of being Empress, as these last few months have shown us, her marital affairs are still my business.” 

Havelock draws himself up to his full height. “Emily can make her own decisions,” he says, with a pointed look in her direction. Daud steps in front of her to block her view. 

“Of course,” Corvo says. “And you lost your right to affecting those when you assigned a Lord Protector to her who tried to force her to disrobe in front of him! Her  _ real _ Lord Protector, Daud, has killed people for less.”

“Emily,” Havelock entreats. “I’ve done my best to protect you, I’ve always had your safety at heart.”

Emily’s shoulders bow inward. 

“Get out, Havelock,” Corvo snarls, and there’s an answering sound of anger from the crows in the rafters of the throne room. 

He flees, before the crows - or Daud, really - can attack him. He gets to the double doors of the throne room and sends Emily once last poignant look that Emily looks away from. 

As soon as he’s gone, Daria and Rinaldo enter the room from the doors to the royal wing, and Rinaldo transverses across the expanse. “Boss,” he breathes, and Daud submits to the hug while Daria pulls Emily into one of her own.

“Rinaldo,” Daud says, and the missing Rulfio is more obvious than ever. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Rinaldo says, and his voice breaks on the last word. “We’ve all missed you. It hasn’t been the same with you and the Crow.”

Daud has always hated the Void, but now he feels justified in his hatred. “We’re back now, and we’re not going anywhere,” he promises. “Are you alright? How’s Pip, and have you heard from the others?” 

“Pip’s with Bottle Street at the moment,” Rinaldo reports. “It seemed safer to put him with Slackjaw in case of emergency and he could look after -” He cuts himself off but Daud can hear it anyway:  _ Rulfio _ .

“That was a good plan,” Daud tells him gently, seeing the weight of the last six months in Rinaldo’s bleak eyes.

Rinaldo nods and clears his throat. “I’ve heard from Cici and Kita, and the others in Aventa. They’ve been coordinating with Theodanis to stock a few ships and come this way as soon as the Blockade drops.”

Daud nods. It will be good to see the others, and having everyone in one place will do wonders for the flagging morale. “Thomas? Rulfio?” 

He briefly wishes he hadn’t asked, because Rinaldo’s face shuts down entirely. “Thom is gone, boss,” he says bluntly. “After Clemente  _ searched his rooms _ when he wasn’t there, and found dead bone charms, he was taken away.”

The man in question startles where he’s standing in the door frame, and Daud can see his expression out of the corner of his eye. “What?” Clemente asks, stepping forward and into conversational range.

Emily stiffens from her place at Daria’s side, and she turns on Clemente. “Thomas is gone because of you, you’re the reason Farley assigned me Ramsey,” she says coldly. There isn’t a trace of the Emily he helped raise in her face or voice and Daud feels a sliver of apprehension. 

Clemente holds his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “Empress, I did no such thing,” he says, and Daud can detect no lies.

Both Emily and Daud look over at Corvo and he steps around Emily, whistling sharply. Sabina wings out of the murder of crows above them, landing on Corvo’s shoulder. She turns one Void-purple eye on Clemente and caws something.

Out of the Void, Daud has no idea what she’s saying but Corvo’s face changes from hard and angry to something much softer in surprise. “He’s telling the truth,” Corvo says, slow, wondering. “He holds no true love for the Abbey, and has kept our secrets. Including the ones involving me.” 

Emily’s lips part in surprise. “Then - how did Khulan know how to take him away?” 

Clemente shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, Empress. I only know that I was not involved. I spoke to the High Overseer, he said he was contacted by someone anonymous. He did not fight them, when they came and Khulan did find bone charms.”

Daud knows what Corvo, at the very least, is thinking. They all have bone charms, his specifically. “If it was anonymous, it could have been any one of the Towers servants, afraid of magic after Delilah,” he says, though the doesn’t seem convinced.

Sabina caws something that makes the hair on the back of Daud’s neck rise. Corvo frowns, nodding, and she takes off, soaring up into the crows above their heads. “What did she say about me?” Clemente wonders.

Corvo glances at him. “They made him watch when they tortured his parents for their worship of the Outsider,” he says, without inflection, and Clemente jerks back. “He believes that heresy is fleeting and should be forgiven. That it comes, and goes like the wind. A gentle heart beats in his chest.”

Emily looks up at Corvo. “Could you find out who  _ did _ turn Thomas in?” she asks.

“I can try.”

Looking relieved, Emily smoothes down her vest and shirt, looking every inch the Empress. “Right,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. “In that case, Rinaldo, you will become the head of my Security in light of Alexi’s promotion to Undercaptain of the Guard. Daud, you will of course, retain your position as Royal Protector. Clemente, now that your duties have ended here, will you return to the Abbey and find Thomas?”

He hesitates, but Clemente eventually nods. “I will see what I can do,” he vows. 

“The crows will follow you,” Corvo says, “speak any information you can to the air and they will carry your message to me.”

Clemente only looks a little intimidated by that, to his credit. “Crow King, indeed,” he says, sounding amused.

He bows once to Emily and strides away, and once he’s gone, Daud feels some of the tension drain out of his spine. 

“You two should change and bathe,” Emily says. “We’ll meet at dinner?” 

Truthfully, it looks like Emily hasn’t eaten a full dinner in weeks, but Daud nods anyway. “Dinner,” he agrees.

He and Corvo transverse together.

*

Daud presses Corvo into the wall.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Corvo says, even as he’s wrapping his arms around Daud’s waist. “We’ll have to be quick.”

Daud kisses the words out of his mouth, leaning his weight against Corvo, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against his own. He’s  _ never _ going to forget the cold, blank expression Corvo’s face as Leviathan worked to consume him. 

The abject fear and loneliness that came from standing in the Void alone will haunt him for just as long, but now Daud has Corvo in his arms, warm and willing.

Daud kisses him again, licking into his mouth to chase the taste of Corvo, and hooks his hands under Corvo’s thighs to lift him. Laughing, Corvo obliges him, wrapping his legs around Daud’s waist, and Daud spins them away from the wall.

He drops Corvo down onto the bed, following after him to press him into the bed. “Clothes,” he murmurs, dropping kisses against Corvo’s cheek and jaw.

“You’re pinning me,  _ amante _ ,” Corvo says, still laughing at him, and Daud doesn’t even mind, he’d thought he’d never hear Corvo laugh again.

With effort, he pulls away from Corvo to help tug off Corvo’s clothes, unwinding the wraps from his scarred left arm, and divesting him of every scrap of fabric. It leaves him gloriously naked, and Daud tugs off his shirt, to press skin to skin against him. 

It’s not  _ enough _ , he pushes off his own trousers, letting Corvo press against him, chest to thigh, skin to skin.

“You’re okay?” Corvo asks, immediately, and Daud rolls his eyes.

“Corvo, I will  _ tell  _ you if I am not comfortable,” he grumbles, and drags Corvo closer to him. He’s not exactly uncomfortable; being naked has never been easy for him, but Corvo looks at him without judgement or intent and that’s enough for Daud.

He pulls away with no little effort and leans against the headboard, pulling Corvo with him. Corvo starts out draped over his chest, their hips only a few inches from each other, as they kiss and kiss and  _ kiss _ . Daud’s lips feel swollen and raw when Corvo finally drags his mouth away, and Corvo’s erection is large and pressing against his thigh.

“Flip,” Daud urges, tugging at Corvo’s side. 

“You want to put a pillow between us?” Corvo asks, halfway to turning himself. 

Daud grunts and pulls Corvo against him. It feels strange to have Corvo’s lower back pressed against his groin, but he’s not uncomfortable enough to move or take Corvo up on his offer. He doesn’t need it, not right now, maybe not anymore.

“I’m fine,” he says, and kisses the juncture of Corvo’s neck and shoulder. “Just don’t grab me.”

Corvo twists to catch his mouth but only for a brief kiss. “I wouldn’t,” he promises.

Daud believes him. 

He slides his hands over Corvo’s chest, narrower than the last time they did this, and thumbs at Corvo’s nipples. Anything Corvo might have tried to say after that is lost behind his gasp, and he arches. 

This, more than anything else, tells Daud how long they’ve been gone. Corvo’s skin is sensitive, and he plucks and rolls Corvo’s nipples until they’re hardened peaks beneath his fingers. 

Corvo’s skin is hot, shivering in pulses with the light tugging of Daud’s hands at his chest. “You trying to tease me to death?” Corvo demands, breathless and soaked in arousal.

“A little,” Daud says, scraping his teeth across the side of Corvo’s neck. 

He does take pity on Corvo’s shifting and shivering body and drops his hand to Corvo’s cock, hard enough to curve upwards toward his belly and already wet at the head. “This really won’t last long,” Corvo says apologetically.

Daud gives him an experimental stroke. “I could always stop,” he says. 

Corvo groans loudly at that. “ _ Fuck _ , please don’t,” he says, and Daud wonders if he’s thinking about the last time they managed to steal a few hours of time alone, hidden in the attic of the Hound Pits. 

Still stroking him gently, Daud thinks about Corvo’s request, thumbing the tip and rubbing his sword callouses against the underside of his cock, twisting his wrist.

Corvo’s hips arch, rolling and screwing up into Daud’s hand. Daud holds him steady, an arm across his chest, and feathers his fingertips over one of Corvo’s nipples, still hard from their earlier treatment.

The sound Corvo makes is choked out of him, and his head drops back against Daud’s shoulder. Daud stops, his hand squeezing the head of Corvo’s cock lightly and Corvo whines, shaking his head and pressing messy, open mouthed kisses against Daud’s chin and neck. “Daud,” he whispers, hoarse and ruined already.

He’d had plans to drag this out, make Corvo writhe and beg and boneless, but the pleading tone lights a fire in his chest, under his ribs. He never wants Corvo to beg for anything, not after Leviathan.

Daud hushes him, turning Corvo’s face to give him a proper kiss. 

He resumes stroking, speeding up his hand until only the sound of the wet slide of skin on skin and Corvo’s hoarse moans echo in the room. Corvo’s cock gets impossibly hard in his hand, and Daud twists his wrist, digging his thumb into the sensitive underside, and Corvo shouts, coming so hard his body jerks against Daud’s.

It grinds his back uncomfortably against Daud’s own erection, but both he and Corvo ignore it. Corvo doesn’t even hesitate to roll over, pulling Daud into a desperate kiss. They’re stretched out on the bed, and the pressure against him doesn’t make his skin crawl. He’s still not interested in having the favor returned, but he knows he can trust Corvo not to push his boundaries now.

They lay together, just kissing, as Corvo comes down from his orgasm, and Daud runs his fingers through Corvo’s too-long hair, teasing out the tangles. “Still good?” Corvo asks, his forehead pressed to Daud’s jaw.

“Still good,” Daud agrees. 

Love, Daud decides, is a strange and funny thing. 

*

Dinner reminds him of the Aventa quarter, sitting with a cadre of assassins and thugs and hoping someone doesn’t start a food fight. Rinaldo would have been of biggest concern there, but his shoulders are hunched and Daud suspects he’s fighting off the same memories.

Emily is finally smiling, her face less pale and drawn than when he saw her earlier in the day. The table is spread with meager fare, as Emily insists she won’t eat like an Empress while the rest of her people starve, but it’s better than half-rotten fruit, hard cheese and bread long gone stale.

Corvo and Daud are careful to eat lightly, Daud only ate three times in the Void and he’d been gone for months, and Corvo had eaten less. But he enjoys Slackjaw’s antics with Daria and Emily is laughing so he can’t even censure their inappropriate humor.

They’re seated together, one of Corvo’s ankles hooked around his own, and Emily is  _ eating _ which makes Daud’s stomach unknot. 

“No, no,” Slackjaw is saying. “The  _ fights  _ they have, how do they get any work done?”

“I’ve wondered that myself,” Emily says dryly, toasting her glass to Slackjaw’s. “I’ve listened to them bicker like an old married couple for ages. It’s best to just nod and smile.”   
  
“And flee, if you can,” Corvo adds.

Emily nods, eyes wide. “Definitely that.” 

Slackjaw looks over at them, offended. “Slackjaw’s a  _ professional _ ,” he says. “Slackjaw doesn’t run from conflict.”

“A professional would know when a battle is lost,” Daud comments, looking down at his plate.

There was a pause and he looks up to see the table staring at him before Slackjaw starts laughing, setting off the rest of his thugs, and Emily. “Right you are, Mister Knife,” Slackjaw says, shaking his head. “Too right.”

“Mister  _ Knife _ ?” Daud says, wrinkling his nose.

“You know,” Slackjaw replies, smirking. “Knife of Dunwall. Mister Knife?” 

Daud looks over at Emily. “I feel like this is your doing.”

She opens her mouth to speak but there’s a sound of displaced air, and Daud tenses, turning. He’d reached out with his magic to give the Bond to anyone it could reach, but the threads of his power were so tangled he wasn’t sure who’d he’d managed to reach. 

The person who steps out of the ash and Void is filthy, almost unfamiliar. His hair is long, hiding his face, and his shirt is covered in bloody handprints. Slowly his head rises to look at Daud, and one of his eyes is entirely gone, just an empty socket remaining.

“So, um,” Rulfio says, his voice ruined and broken, “the Plague Cure? It - It works.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *To Be Continued in: Of Mending and the Bones, coming 8 January 2018


End file.
